o. 


-LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


THE 

PHILOSOPHY    OF    FICTION 
IN    LITERATURE 


BY  DANIEL  GREENLEAF  THOMPSON 


A  SYSTEM   OF  PSYCHOLOGY,  a  vols.  8vo. 

THE  PROBLEM   OF  EVIL:  An  Introduction 
to  the  Practical  Sciences.    8vo. 

THE  RELIGIOUS   SENTIMENTS  OF   THE 
HUMAN  MIND.    8vo. 

SOCIAL  PROGRESS:  An  Essay.    8vo. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO. 
LONDON  AND  NEW  YORK 


THE 

PHILOSOPHY   OF    FICTION 
IN    LITERATURE 


AN  ESSAY 


BY 

DANIEL  GREENLEAF  THOMPSON 

AUTHOR    OF   "  A  SYSTEM    OF    PSYCHOLOGY  ;  "  "  THE   PROBLEM    OF  EVIL  ; 
"  THE  RELIGIOUS  SENTIMENTS   OF  THE  HUMAN   MIND  ;  " 
"  SOCIAL    PROGRESS,"    ETC.,   ETC. 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

LONGMANS,    GREEN,  &    CO. 
1800 


COPYRIGHT,  1890,  BY 
DANIEL  GREENLEAF  THOMPSON. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  C<x 
Aitor  Place,  New  York 


TO 
CERTAIN  GOOD  FRIENDS  OF  MINE, 

OF    BOTH    SEXES, 
WHO    ARE    WRITERS 

OF   FICTION, 
1    RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATE 

THIS  BIT  OF   PREACHING,- 

IN  A   DEPARTMENT  IN   WHICH  THEY   HAVE 
SUCCESSFULLY   PRACTISED. 


NKW  YORK,  Sept.  i,  1890. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PACK 

THE  OFFICE  OF  FICTION  IN  LITERATURE i 

CHAPTER   II. 
INTEREST u 

CHAPTER  III. 
THE  SCIENTIFIC  VALUE  OF  FICTION 17 

CHAPTER   IV. 
THE  MORAL  VALUE  OF  FICTION 23 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE  ESTHETIC  VALUE  OF  FICTION 29 

CHAPTER  VI. 
REALISM  AND  IDEALISM 46 

CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  EXHIBITION  OF  POWER 84 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  EXHIBITION  OF  SUFFERING  . .  .  101 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

PAGE 

THE  EXHIBITION  OF  LOVE 115 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  EXHIBITION  OF  SOCIAL  LIFE.  '. 131 

CHAPTER  XL 
THE  COMIC  OR  LUDICROUS 138 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  GENERAL  SUBJECT  REVIEWED 146 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
ART,  MORALS,  AND  SCIENCE 153 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
THE  CONSTRUCTION  OF  A  WORK  OF  FICTION 205 

CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  CRITICISM  OF  A  WORK  OF  FICTION 217 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION 
IN   LITERATURE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   OFFICE   OF   FICTION   IN   LITERATURE. 

WHEN  I  have  finished  "  Romola,"  by  George 
Eliot,  the  first  and  most  obvious  thing  to  be  noted 
upon  reflection  is  that  the  book  has  interested 
me  sufficiently  to  cause  me  to  read  it  through. 
If,  then,  encouraged  by  this  experience,  and  be- 
lieving a  novel  to  be  a  novel,  I  take  up  "  Sir 
Charles  Grandison,"  I  may  find,  after  reading  a 
portion,  that  I  grow  tired,  lay  the  book  down,  and 
refuse  to  recur  to  it.  I  am  bored,  and  the  thought 
of  continuing  is  irksome.  Clearly,  then,  all  tales 
are  not  interesting.  Again,  I  am  led  to  the  pe- 
rusal of  M.  Zola's  "  La  Terre."  My  attention  is 
held  ;  I  am  presently  shocked,  then  disgusted.  I 
throw  the  pamphlet  into  the  fire  and  open  the 
windows  to  air  the  room.  But  my  friend  Jones 
tells  me  he  is  very  fond  of  "  Sir  Charles  Grandi- 

I 


2  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

son."  He  thinks  novel  writing  has  improved  very 
little  since  the  days  of  Richardson,  and  he  does 
not  like  George  Eliot.  My  friend  Smith  read  "  La 
Terre  "  through,  and  while,  being  a  church-mem- 
ber, he  could  not  say  he  approved  of  the  work,  he 
was  interested,  and  thought  there  was  something 
virile  about  it,  as  there  is  in  the  dramas  of  Shake- 
speare. At  least  he  was  sure  the  book  would  sell. 
It  is  thus  evident  that  whether  a  book  is  to  us 
readable  or  not  depends  on  our  respective  men- 
tal constitutions,  as  does  also  the  question  of 
approval  or  disapproval.  What  is  literary  meat 
to  one  man  is  poison  to  another.  If  one  person 
likes  devil-fish,  to  him  devil-fish  is  good,  although 
there  may  not  be  many  who  have  such  an  ap- 
petite. To  the  Indiana  drummer  who  excited 
"  Rev."  Joseph  Cook's  wrath  by  eating  raw  steak, 
bloody  beef  was  a  great  delicacy.  He  relished 
and  assimilated  it.  Similarly,  when  we  say  a 
book  is  good  or  bad,  our  judgment  is  formed  by 
our  own  likings,  and  our  ideas  of  what  is  good  for 
other  people  as  based  upon  our  tastes.  But  the 
diversity  in  human  nature  is  so  great  that  such  a 
judgment,  founded  upon  individual  notions  and 
preferences,  is  a  hazardous  one  to  make.  We  dis- 
cover that  a  very  intricate  problem  is  presented 
when  we  are  called  upon  to  value  a  literary  work, 
for  we  have,  in  the  first  place,  to  take  into  account 
the  immense  variety  of  human  wants ;  and,  if  an 
ethical  element  is  introduced  into  our  considera- 


FICTION  IN  LITERATURE.  3 

tions,  the  whole  field  of  moral  science,  with  its 
countless  questions  of  casuistry,  is  opened. 

Literature  involves  the  preservation  and  com- 
munication of  thought,  using  the  latter  term  not 
in  the  sense  of  reasoned  discourse,  but  in  a 
broader  application  indicative  of  the  whole  of 
intellectual  life  with  its  emotional  and  volitional 
dependencies  implied.  Literature,  therefore,  may 
be  a  record  of  any  part  of  human  experience,  so 
far  as  it  is  possible  for  words  to  express  it ;  and 
this  record,  being  also  a  means  of  communication, 
may  induce  a  repetition  of  the  experience  or  may 
furnish  a  stimulus  to  other  experiences  suggested 
by  it.  Hence  literature  affects  conduct  and  is 
potent  in  both  individual  and  social  development. 

Literature  may  be  a  record  of  what  a  person 
has  perceived  without,  of  what  he  has  felt  within, 
of  what  he  has  inferred  and  imagined,  and  of 
what  he  has  done.  The  second  and  the  last  of 
these  furnish  autobiography.  The  third  is  in- 
direct autobiography,  indeed ;  but  its  character- 
istic is  the  expression  of  the  mental  life  of  the 
individual  in  constructed  forms,  which,  though 
they  are  the  product  of  experience,  are  not  them- 
selves given  in  any  primary  feeling  or  perception. 
His  inferences  are  generalized  from  his  primary 
experiences ;  his  fictions  of  imagination  are  ideal 
creations.  There  remains  the  first  class,  which  is 
purely  historical,  a  chronicle  of  what  is  and  has 
been  in  the  world  about  us,  embracing  both 


4  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

natural  and  social  history  and  covering  all  of  the 
universe  with  which  the  individual  mind  has  any 
communication. 

Fiction,  as  the  name  imports,  belongs  to  the 
third  of  the  classes  thus  roughly  marked  out. 
It  is  a  construction  of  human  life  and  society 
which  is  not  an  exact  reproduction  of  actual 
individuals,  or  of  social  life,  nor  of  incidents  of 
any  particular  series  of  events.  The  variation 
from  historical  accuracy  may  be  slight,  or  may 
extend  very  far ;  but  the  narrative  must  furnish 
a  sufficient  departure  to  exclude  it  from  the  cate- 
gory of  historical  accounts.  To  be  sure,  many  so- 
called  histories  are  really  novels,  and  many  histori- 
cal novels  are  more  valuable  as  history  than  the 
professedly  accurate  chronicles  ;  but  the  distinc- 
tion is  as  stated:  and  in  these  latter  cases  the 
writer  merely  throws  upon  the  reader  who  wishes 
to  take  the  trouble  the  burden  of  disentangling 
the  true  and  the  fictitious,  while  those  who  do 
not  care  are  content  that  the  account  may  be 
either. 

The  form  of  fiction  may  be  prose  or  verse,  but 
usage  has  confined  the  term  to  such  prose  or 
verse  as  contains  a  movement  of  personality,  a 
narrative  of  events — to  the  story,  the  tale,  the 
novel.  Hence,  essays  are  not  fiction,  though 
Plato's  "  Dialogues "  might  not  inappropriately 
be  considered  so,  as  they  fulfil  some  of  the  most 
important  conditions  named.  But  in  these  pro- 


FICTION  IN  LITERA  TURE.  5 

ductions  the  narrative  is  subordinate  to  the 
reasoning,  and  the  reader's  attention  is  never  fixed 
upon  the  incident,  unless  it  be  in  that  uccount 
of  the  death  of  Socrates  near  the  end  of  the 
"  Phaedo,"  and  perhaps  in  one  or  two  other  places 
to  a  less  degree.  So  that  the  "  Dialogues  "  can 
scarcely  even  be  reckoned  as  dramatic  fiction. 
Nor  can  we  include  under  the  term  descriptive 
poetry,  like  Goldsmith's  "  Deserted  Village  "  ;  nor 
reflective,  like  Bryant's  "  Thanatopsis  "  ;  nor  di- 
dactic, like  Wordsworth's  "  Excursion  " — though 
all  are  works  of  the  creative  imagination.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  great  epics,  like  the  "  Iliad,"  the 
"  Odyssey,"  "  The  Inferno,"  "  Paradise  Lost,"  are 
clearly  poetical  fiction,  and  more  evidently  still 
such  narratives  as  Chaucer's  "  Canterbury  Tales." 
But  restriction  in  the  use  of  the  word  has  gone 
so  far  that  when  one  speaks  of  Fiction  we  under- 
stand prose  fiction  in  the  form  of  the  story  or 
novel.  I  shall  make  such  usage  the  excuse  for  tak- 
ing this  form  of  literature  as  the  principal  topic  of 
the  present  discussion,  though  most  of  what  I  shall 
have  occasion  to  say  will  apply  equally  well  to 
the  tale  in  verse.  Poetical  composition,  however, 
seems  to  demand  a  separate  treatment,  especially 
on  the  artistic  side.  The  same  thing  is  true  of 
dramatic  literature — the  most  intricate  and  diffi- 
cult of  all  literary  construction.  It  will  hence  be 
better  if  I  leave  these  departments  of  fictitious 
literature  without  further  treatment  than  may  be 


6  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION, 

involved  in  an  occasional  reference  or  illustra- 
tion. 

As  was  remarked  at  the  outset,  the  first  thing 
to  be  observed  in  reflecting  upon  the  fact  that  we 
have  read  a  novel  is  that  it  is  interesting  enough 
for  us  to  have  gone  through  it.  Nevertheless,  it 
is  no  doubt  the  case  that  many  people  have  read 
novels  in  which  they  were  not  interested,  impelled 
thereto  by  a  stern  feeling  of  duty  created  by  the 
importunities  of  friends,  or  by  the  pride  of  a 
professional  novel-reader  who  must  keep  up  his 
reputation,  or  by  general  popular  sentiment  that 
a  particular  story  is  good.  But  there  is  no  gen- 
eral moral  obligation  resting  upon  the  community 
to  read  any  production  of  this  kind,  as  there  is  to 
read  the  Bible,  or  even  the  history  of  one's  coun- 
try. Common  sentiment  allows  people  to  read 
or  to  avoid  reading  novels  because  they  like  or 
dislike  them.  This  circumstance  reveals  the  chief 
value  of  such  works.  They  are  primarily  impor- 
tant in  their  artistic  aspect.  They  are  born  of  art, 
and  as  such  their  first  office  is  to  interest,  to  amuse, 
to  please. 

Yet  it  is  quite  certain  that  in  order  to  please 
regard  must  be  had  to  the  sources  of  pleasure  in 
the  human  mind.  A  story  is  artificial  and  does 
not  of  itself  give  pleasure  naturally,  as  does  a  beau- 
tiful color,  a  musical  sound,  a  cheering  warmth 
when  one  {§  chilled.  There  must  be  some  regard 
for  artistic  principles.  An  ungramm.atical  narra- 


FICTION  IN  LITERATURE.  j 

tive,  for  instance,  at  once  offends ;  as  also  does 
such  a  dialogue  unless  the  irregular  speech  is  made 
to  emanate  from  a  character  in  whom  it  would  be 
natural.  Similarly,  vulgarities  of  expression  given 
as  the  language  of  the  author  displease  and  dis- 
gust. Clumsiness,  crudity,  tediousness,  tautology, 
commonplace,  and  many  other  offences  against 
good  taste  have  to  be  carefully  avoided.  There 
are  all  forms  of  beauty,  symmetry,  sublimity, 
grandeur,  and  their  opposites,  to  be  apprehended 
and  felt  in  the  reading  of  a  book,  and  they  have 
the  most  potent  influence  in  fixing  our  estimate 
of  it. 

But  it  must  be  recollected  that  the  sense  of 
beauty  is  in  no  small  degree  dependent  upon  truth. 
No  tale  can  be  regarded  as  a  work  of  fine  art  which 
does  not  have  regard  in  its  unfolding  to  a  certain 
amount  of  congruity  with  the  order  of  nature. 
By  this  it  is  not  meant  that  entirely  fanciful  crea- 
tions do  not  interest,  for  exactly  the  contrary  is 
the  case.  "  Gulliver's  Travels,"  the  "  Munchausen" 
stories,  and  the  vast  number  of  popular  fairy  tales 
bear  ample  witness  to  this  fact.  Even  absurdity 
is  sometimes  very  delightful  in  all  its  degrees,  from 
the  mild  ridiculousness  of  Mr.  Frarik  R.  Stock- 
ton's "  Casting  Away  of  Mrs.  Leeks  and  Mrs.  Ale- 
shine,"  to  the  utter  nonsense  of  the  "  Wogly  Bird 
and  Ginko  Tree."  But  there  must  be  a  coherence 
and  harmony  in  exhibiting  the  improbable  or  non- 
existent. The  plan  or  idea  must  be  consistently 


8  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

maintained  and  developed.  By  preserving  such 
a  unity,  the  demands  of  the  sense  of  truth  are 
satisfied.  The  necessity  for  doing  this  with  skill 
increases  as  mankind  becomes  more  scientific. 
The  ignorant  mind  is  satisfied  with  the  most  ex- 
traordinary bouleversements,  catastrophes,  and  pro- 
ductive effects  wrought  by  gods  and  demons,  and 
even  by  the  deus  ex  machina  ;  because  such  things 
seem  perfectly  natural  and  probable  when  the 
belief  in  the  existence  of  spiritual  agencies,  mov- 
ing arbitrarily,  is  present.  But  the  scientifically 
trained  mind  will  have  none  of  such  trifling.  A 
material  or  human  cause  must  be  adduced  to 
account  for  everything,  or  the  reader  sneers  and 
condemns.  When  the  novel-writer  gets  out  of  the 
region  of  the  purely  fanciful  and  deals  with  the 
experiences  of  human  beings  in  the  world  as  it 
is,  there  is  an  absolute  necessity  that  he  conform 
to  the  natural  conditions  of  his  locus  in  quo  and 
its  inhabitants.  Mr.  Rider  Haggard,  in  his  tales 
of  South  African  adventure,  would  have  been 
laughed  down  if  he  had  merely  reproduced  the 
incidents,  the  appearance  of  country,  and  the  game 
that  would  be  found  in  a  hunting  expedition  in 
the  north  of  England  ;  as  uproariously  as  would 
an  author  describing  a  fox-hunt  in  the  latter  re- 
gion who  should  allow  his  hunters  suddenly  to 
start  an  elephant.  Walter  Scott  never  would  have 
succeeded  with  the  "  Waverley  Novels  "  had  he  not 
made  his  descriptions  consistent  with  their  times ; 


FICTION  IN  LITERATURE.  g 

nor  would  the  great  artists  who  have  portrayed 
character,  like  Shakespeare,  Moliere,  and  Balzac, 
have  commanded  the  attention  of  the  world,  if 
they  had  not  presented  to  us  men  and  women  who 
were  typical  of  their  times  and  circumstances,  and 
for  whose  existence  in  the  story  there  was  scien- 
tific warrant. 

Again,  the  moral  quality  of  a  story,  its  scenes 
and  characters,  is  not  and  cannot  be  ignored.  Peo- 
ple who  are  animated  by  strong  moral  purposes 
will  be  governed  in  their  judgment  of  a  novel  by 
its  supposed  ethical  influences.  To  those  who 
believe  that  the  breaking  up  of  old  theological 
notions  is  a  gain  for  morality,  "  Robert  Elsmere  " 
is  most  admirable ;  while  to  those  who  esteem  it 
immoral  to  loosen  the  hold  of  ancient  dogmas 
and  creeds,  the  story  is  thoroughly  bad  arid  most 
reprehensible.  No  doubt  the  artistic  merit  or  de- 
merit of  the  book  in  question  is,  in  the  minds  of 
great  numbers  who  read  it,  fixed  and  settled  by  its 
moral  character  according  to  their  views.  We 
may  say  all  this  is  most  unjust ;  but  the  fact  re- 
mains, that  mankind  is  so  constituted  that  such 
injustice  is  inevitable. 

Without  going  further  into  detail,  it  is  evident 
that  the  office  of  fiction  in  literature  is  a  very 
complex  one.  It  contributes  to  satisfy  our  crav- 
ings for  beauty,  for  truth,  and  for  goodness  ;  but 
how  to  balance  these  properly  is  the  serious  prob- 
lem. We  must  come  back  to  our  original  propo- 


10  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

sition ;  namely,  that  the  prime  requisite  of  a  novel 
is  that  it  shall  interest.  Our  inquiry,  then,  must 
be :  What  are  the  things  that  interest  ?  What 
does  interest  mean  ?  And  what  are  its  bearings 
upon  human  life  and  happiness  ? 


CHAPTER   II. 

INTEREST. 

WHATEVER  attracts  and  detains  the  attention 
interests,  for  this  attraction  and  detention  is  what 
interest  means.  Any  impact  of  sufficient  force 
will  secure  attention  for  the  moment.  It  may  be 
arrested  and  held  by  a  sensation  which  is  pleasur- 
able or  painful ;  but  if  there  be  pain,  an  effort  is 
made  to  get  away  from  the  object  producing  pain, 
and  to  expel  the  painful  consciousness.  This  effort 
may  not  be  successful,  but  it  will  be  continued  or 
repeated  until  the  cause  of  pain  is  removed  or  un- 
consciousness supervenes.  If  the  sensation  be 
pleasurable,  the  attention  is  detained  until  the 
pleasurable  quality  fades  out,  or  some  new  object 
is  presented  of  greater  sensational  power.  So  far, 
then,  as  sensational  experiences  are  concerned,  the 
attention  varies  directly  as  the  quantity  of  sensa- 
tion. 

But  in  the  representative  mental  life  the  voli- 
tional law  of  the  avoidance  of  pain,  just  alluded 
to,  has  a  wider  scope  for  its  operation,  because 
the  higher  the  degree  of  mental  development,  the 
greater  is  the  volitional  control  of  the  mind  over 


12  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

its  own  states.  Hence,  that  which  is  painful  is 
more  speedily  dismissed,  the  mind  refusing  to 
dwell  upon  disagreeable  or  pain-producing  sugges- 
tions. I  cannot  escape  a  harsh,  disagreeable  noise 
except  by  getting  away  from  it,  and  until  I  do 
this  I  am  forced  to  give  it  attention.  But  if  I 
only  remember  that  noise,  the  unpleasant  associa- 
tions of  themselves  tend  to  drive  the  recollection 
away  and  replace  it  by  something  else.  Anything 
that  suggests  the  disagreeable  in  our  past  experi- 
ence we  aim  to  put  out  of  mind. 

When  we  read  a  book,  if  the  feelings  aroused 
are  unpleasant,  it  is  quite  within  our  power  to 
throw  it  down  and  have  no  more  of  it.  Unless 
we  are  bound  hand  and  foot  and  forced  to  listen 
to  the  reading  of  some  one  else,  we  can  control  the 
situation.  The  question  of  interest  then  resolves 
itself  into  the  broader  one  of  what  produces  pleas- 
urable and  what  produces  painful  emotion. 

If,  however,  the  statement  be  left  thus,  a  dis- 
tinction of  immense  importance  will  be  overlooked. 
This  distinction  arises  from  the  fact  that  what 
hurts  my  fellow-being  does  not  necessarily  pain 
me.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  true  that  I  may  de- 
rive much  pleasure  from  my  neighbor's  woe.  It 
does  not  deprive  me  of  pleasurable  interest  in  a 
work  of  fiction,  therefore,  to  find  that  it  depicts 
experiences  painful  to  somebody,  so  long  as  they 
are  not  painful  to  me.  My  sympathetic  likes  and 
dislikes  must  be  considered.  In  reading  "  Maiwa's 


INTEREST.  13 

Revenge,"  by  Mr.  Rider  Haggard,  for  instance,  it 
gives  the  reader  great  satisfaction  to  have  the  old 
barbarian  chief  caught  and  horribly  tortured  in 
the  "  Thing-that-bites."  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  victim  had  been  the  captive  Englishman  who 
had  been  designed  for  such  a  fate,  the  feelings 
aroused  would  have  been  decidedly  unpleasant, 
and  we  should  have  begun  to  find  fault  with  the 
author.  The  visiting  of  punishment  upon  some 
one  we  deem  worthy  to  receive  it  is  grateful  to 
our  feelings,  while  the  triumph  of  whatever  we 
consider  vicious  and  wicked  is  exceedingly  offen- 
sive. 

Hence,  tragedy,  woe,  suffering  in  the  most  hor- 
rible forms,  may  impart  a  quality  of  interest  to  a 
novel  if  they  are  so  introduced  as  to  agree  with  the 
reader's  sentiments.  But  this  is  not  the  whole  of 
the  matter.  They  may  interest  quite  irrespective 
of  our  sympathies,  where  the  predatory  lusts  are 
so  strong  in  the  human  mind  that  murder  and 
cruelty  are  relished  for  their  own  sake.  There 
are  many  people  so  constituted,  to  whom  scenes 
of  carnage  are  agreeable.  The  most,  indeed, 
would  relish  a  realistic  account  of  a  bull-fight,  not 
because  they  have  any  sympathy  with  either  bull, 
but  because  they  like  a  fight.  The  same  thing  is 
true  of  wars  between  human  beings,  though  in  the 
latter  case  there  is  generally  something  more  than 
an  interest  in  mere  bloodshed. 

We  shall  consider  the  bearings  of  this  trait  of 


I4  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

human  nature  upon  our  subject  more  fully  in  a 
subsequent  chapter.  It  is  mentioned  now  only  to 
illustrate  the  point  that  interest  in  a  story  means 
the  pleasurable  interest  which  it  excites  in  the 
reader  through  his  own  sympathies  and  antipa- 
thies. The  extent  of  that  interest  among  those 
who  read  depends  upon  the  number  of  people 
who  agree  sufficiently  in  character  to  be  similarly 
affected.  What  would  have  pleased  the  ten  just 
men  in  Sodom,  had  there  been  that  number,  would 
not  interest  the  remaining  thousands  ;  while  a  story 
like  "  Mile.  Giraud,  ma  Femme,"  *  or  a  "  Marriage 
below  Zero/'f  which  would  no  doubt  delight  the 
multitudes  of  that  city,  would  be  abhorrent  to 
the  ten. 

For  the  purposes  of  this  essay,  the  sources  of 
pleasure  and  pain  may  be  grouped  as  aesthetic,  sci- 
entific, and  moral,  according  to  the  lines  marked 
out  in  the  preceding  chapter.  The  true  theory  of 
pleasure  and  pain  is,  in  my  judgment,  that  which 
connects  the  two  with  the  conservation  of  life. 
Pleasures  have  relation  to  three  general  functions : 
(i)  growth  ;  (2)  preservation  of  the  integrity  of  the 
mind  and  body ;  (3)  reproduction.  Correspond- 
ingly, pains  have  relation  to:  (i)  retardation;  (2) 
disintegration  ;  (3)  annihilation.  Using  the  most 
general  terms,  the  pleasures  of  the  mind  are:  (i) 
to  acquire ;  (2)  to  possess  and  conserve ;  and  (3) 

*  Belot.  Alan  Dale- 


INTEREST.  1 5 

to  perpetuate.*  Thus  the  fundamental  and  basic 
pleasures  of  human  life  are  appetitive,  and  all 
others  are  differentiations  from  and  refinements  of 
these.  But  the  interests  now  under  consideration 
are  wholly  representative.  They  are  not  primary, 
like  the  pleasure  of  repletion  after  a  good  meal. 
They  affect  human  happiness  indirectly,  not  di- 
rectly. Novels  are  not  necessities  of  life,  nor  are 
they  immediately  deleterious  or  destructive. 

When  we  take  note  of  the  distinguishing  char- 
acters of  aesthetic  pleasures  we  shall  readily  per- 
ceive the  true  location  of  those  enjoyments  we 
derive  from  works  of  fiction.  ^Esthetic  pleasures 
arise  in  connection  with  objects  which  are  not 
present  for  the  purpose  of  ministering  to  our 
necessities,  or  at  least  so  far  as  that  idea  is  not 
suggested.  Secondly,  they  arise  in  connection 
with  objects  which  are  without  disagreeable  ac- 
companiments, or  so  far  forth  as  such  objects  are 
without  them.  Thirdly,  they  spring  up  with  ob- 
jects whose  enjoyments  are  not  restricted  to  a 
single  mind,  or  which  do  not  perish  with  the  using. 
A  novel  obviously  satisfies  the  first  and  the  third  of 
these  conditions.  It  is  a  constructive  product  to 
be  enjoyed  by  many  minds  and  not  to  perish  with 
the  using.  Whatever  else  it  is,  it  has  at  least  this 
aesthetic  basis.  Its  further  and  complete  aesthetic 
character  is  derived  from  its  conformity  to  the 

*  "  System  of  Psychology,"  by  the  present  author,  Part  VIII., 
ch.  Ix. 


1 6  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

second  condition,  and  its  success  depends  upon  the 
preponderance  of  the  agreeable  over  the  disagree- 
able. 

Here  intervene  the  other  offices  of  fiction  which 
we  remarked  in  the  last  chapter.  We  can  impart 
information  and  can  influence  conduct  by  a  story. 
Hence  the  scientific  and  the  moral  quality  of 
fiction.  The  relations  of  these  three  elements 
to  each  other  we  shall  consider  later.  But  it 
may  safely  be  said  that,  however  much  scientific 
and  moral  characteristics  in  a  novel  may  influence 
us,  we  never  can  divest  the  work  of  its  fundament- 
ally aesthetic  character ;  and  we  shall  have  seriously 
to  ask  whether  we  do  not  lose  much  more  than 
we  gain  when  we  attempt  to  subordinate  that 
which  is  in  itself  aesthetic  to  any  sort  of  didactic 
purposes. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   SCIENTIFIC  VALUE   OF   FICTION. 

WHEN  the  fond  parent  wishes  to  impress  some 
truth  upon  the  mind  of  his  child  so  strongly  as  to 
make  certain  that  it  will  not  be  eradicated,  he  is  very 
apt  to  include  it  in  a  story.  The  familiar  "  Once- 
upon-a-time  "  will  detain  the  youngster's  attention 
and  make  him  a  ready  listener,  when  if  the  fact,  to 
impart  the  knowledge  of  which  is  the  object  of  the 
tale,  were  stated  baldly,  the  child  would  not  re- 
ceive it ;  or,  if  he  did,  would  not  long  remember. 
Without  the  narrative  there  is  no  interest ;  the 
mind  fails  to  take  hold  of  and  incorporate  with 
itself  the  things  presented. 

A  great  deal  of  valuable  information  has,  no 
doubt,  been  imparted  to  youth  in  this  way.  Tales 
of  hunting  and  fishing  adventure,  like  Capt.  Mayne 
Reid's  series,  of  which  "The  Boy  Hunters"  and 
"  The  Young  Voyageurs  "  are  samples,  have  both 
delighted  and  instructed  many.  So,  likewise, 
much  mechanical  and  other  applied  science  has 
been  inculcated  by  works  like  the  "  Rollo  "  *  books. 

*  Abbott. 


1 8  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

Again,  Col.  Thomas  W.  Knox,  in  his  "  Boy  Trav- 
eller "  volumes,  has  been  highly  successful,  setting 
forth  in  a  fictitious  narrative  much  interesting  and 
valuable  knowledge  respecting  remote  lands  of  the 
earth  and  their  denizens.  The  object  of  such  pro- 
ductions is  primarily  educational.  They  aim  to 
instruct  through  fiction,  employed  as  a  device  to 
hold  the  attention  and  arouse  interest. 

This,  of  course,  is  not  pure  fiction  in  the  sense 
in  which  we  are  considering  fiction  as  a  theme ; 
but  story-telling  of  this  sort  illustrates  most 
plainly  the  use  to  which  fiction  may  be  put  in 
imparting  knowledge.  And  it  is  by  no  means 
unusual  to  find  in  works  wherein  the  fictitious 
narrative  is  the  chief  distinctive  characteristic, 
scientific  information,  upon  which  many  readers 
will  lay  the  most  stress  ;  and  for  which  especially, 
or  even  solely,  will  they  esteem  the  production. 
Not  to  speak  further  of  natural  history,  though 
there  is  not  a  little  to  be  learned  in  this  depart- 
ment from  many  good  novels,  it  is  evident  that 
geography,  physical  and  political,  is  taught  very 
extensively  and  effectively  by  tales  which  will  not 
be  denied  a  place  with  fiction  proper.  If  we  class 
descriptions  of  natural  scenery  and  of  towns  in 
this  category,  we  shall  at  once  meet  with  one  of 
the  most  charming  features  of  story-composition 
in  all  literatures.  Such  descriptions,  indeed,  per- 
haps  generally  derive  their  greatest  value  from  the 
aesthetic  elements,  from  the  manner  and  style  of 


SCIENTIFIC    VALUE   OF  FICTION.  ig 

diction  rather  than  from  the  knowledge  imparted ; 
but  there  is  still  a  good  deal  of  interest  awakened 
by  the  fact  that  the  reader  is  learning  something. 
It  is  often  because  something  may  be  acquired 
from  them,  supposably  true,  that  Walter  Scott's 
works  are  highly  commended.  Many  a  person  has 
obtained  his  ideas  of  the  appearance  of  certain 
localities  entirely  from  some  tale  he  has  read. 
Even  in  a  writer  who  can  by  no  means  be  classed 
as  a  typically  descriptive  author  (I  use  the  term 
as  applied  to  natural  scenery)  we  often  come  upon 
pages  of  most  excellent  description,  as  the  reader 
of  "  Wanda  "  *  will  doubtless  call  to  mind.  Again, 
the  vivid  pictures  of  shore  and  sea  presented  in 
William  Black's  novels  have  possessed  the  minds 
of  many  more  completely  than  the  movement  of 
life  in  the  development  of  the  plot. 

Still  more  true  is  this  line  of  remark  when  the 
department  of  history  is  included.  The  historical 
novel  has  been  at  times  the  leading  type  of  fiction. 
This  resulted  at  one  period  from  the  eminence  of 
Scott,  in  England,  and  of  Cooper,  in  America. 
More  recently,  Louisa  Muhlbach,  whose  history  is 
unhistorical,  and  Georg  Ebers,  who  strives  to  be 
as  accurate  as  if  writing  scientific  treatises,  may  be 
cited  as  story-writers  of  this  class.  The  best  of 
these  authors  have  aimed  to  make  their  histori- 
cal statements  reliable.  The  critical  and  reading 

*  Ouida. 


20  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

public,  recognizing  that  the  purpose  of  the  story 
is  partly  to  teach  history,  has  insisted  that  what 
is  stated  as  fact  shall  be  fact,  and  have  estimated 
the  authors  accordingly. 

From  the  scientific  point  of  view  we  have, 
then,  the  geographical,  the  botanical,  the  zoologi- 
cal, and  the  historical  novel.  We  might  add  the 
astronomical,  if  we  take  into  account  the  Jules 
Vernes  who  have  written  voyages  to  the  moon 
and  dealt  with  life  in  the  planets.  The  publica- 
tion of  the  "  Strange  Manuscript  found  in  a  Cop- 
per Cylinder"*  would  justify  another  class,  that 
of  the  geological  novel.  Taking  all  together, 
natural  history,  in  its  various  branches,  and  the 
history  of  human  life  will  comprise  the  scien- 
tific elements  in  fictitious  literature. 

The  last-named  category,  however,  includes 
much  more  than  has  been  indicated.  Its  sugges- 
tion leads  us  to  a  genuine  scientific  value  of  the 
novel,  which  is  often  overlooked.  A  purely  ficti- 
tious representation  of  human  life  and  society, 
which  is  recognized  as  a  type  of  actually  existing 
conditions,  is  of  scientific  importance,  not  only 
because  it  is  true,  but  because  the  truth  cannot 
be  set  forth  in  any  other  way.  We  cannot  take 
a  definitely  known  individual,  dissect  his  character 
and  exhibit  his  unworthy  traits,  without  incurring 
the  risk  of  a  libel  suit ;  or,  if  we  make  him  too 

*  De  Mille. 


SCIENTIFIC    VALUE   OF  FICTION.  2l 

angelic,  without  exciting  all  sorts  of  ridicule  from 
those  who  do  not  agree  with  our  estimate.  More 
than  one  writer  has  suffered  seriously  from  even 
the  suspicion  of  having  intended  some  living  per- 
son in  the  portrayal  of  a  fictitious  character.  It 
may  be  remembered  that  the  author  of  a  story 
called  "  Cape  Cod  Folks  "  aroused  great  excite- 
ment and  indignation,  not  many  years  ago,  because 
it  was  believed  she  had  maliciously  "  done  up  "  a 
whole  community.  Nor  is  it  always  safe  to  tell 
the  truth  about  the  dead.  It  is  very  hard  to  get 
just  historical  accounts  of  popular  idols.  The  first 
edition  of  Sparks's  "  American  Biography  "  con- 
tained mention  of  a  certain  liaison  of  George  Wash- 
ington ;  but  so  much  disfavor  was"  manifested  on 
this  account  that  it  was  taken  out  of  subsequent 
editions.  It  would  have  been  very  dangerous  to 
the  author  to  have  published  even  ten  years  ago 
that  circumstantial  account  of  Abraham  Lincoln's 
unhappy  domestic  life  which  Mr.  Herndon's  book 
has  just  presented.*  The  diary  of  the  Emperor 
Frederick  III.  of  Germany  is  sealed  up,  and  no 
one  can  get  at  it,  much  less  use  it  for  historical 
purposes.  Not  only  is  it  impossible  oftentimes  to 
print  correct  biographies,  but  any  direct  criticism 
of  governmental,  religious,  and  social  institutions 
is  utterly  forbidden  at  many  times  and  in  many 
places.  The  only  way  in  which  people  can  be 


1889. 


22  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

fully  instructed,  then,  as  to  social  conditions  is  by 
fiction.  The  works  of  M.  Zola  and  the  Russian  real- 
ists are  examples  of  this  kind  of  education.  The 
only  method  of  obtaining  any  thorough  knowl- 
edge, at  least  of  contemporary  character  and  so- 
ciety, its  formative  influences,  the  ultimate  results 
of  particular  courses  of  action,  existing  tendencies 
toward  weal  or  woe,  is  through  the  analysis  and 
depiction  of  the  novelist.  The  novel,  then,  has  a 
very  decided  and  marked  psychological,  ethologi- 
cal,  and  sociological  utility. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   MORAL  VALUE   OF  FICTION. 

ALMOST  everybody  assumes  that  a  book  must 
have  a  purpose,  and  people  are  incorrigible  in 
their  habit  of  inquiring  what  its  effect  is  likely  to 
be.  They  mean,  its  moral  effect.  If  they  con- 
sider this  to  be  bad,  they  very  unwarrantably 
jump  to  the  conclusion  that  it  proceeded  from 
an  evil  purpose.  Then  both  the  book  and  the 
author  are  condemned. 

If  an  author's  object  apparently  be  to  interest 
or  amuse,  with  no  ulterior  moral  aim,  the  mass 
of  readers  generally  put  his  work  on  a  lower  plane. 
If  a  didactic  character  is  evident,  the  book  is  much 
better.  Many  persons  are  always  looking  for  a 
"  Hczc  fabula  docet"  and  are  much  disappointed 
if  they  fail  to  find  it.  I  fancy  this  peculiarity 
arises  simply  from  the  fact  that  a  book  was  pri- 
marily, and  is  now  among  those  who  read  little 
regarded  solely,  as  an  instrument  of  education. 
Books  are  given  children  to  teach  them  some- 
thing— reading  itself,  spelling,  computation,  geog- 
raphy. When  a  story  appears  the  first  questions 
asked  are,  "  What  is  it  for  ? "  "  What  does  it 


24  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

teach  ?  "  "  What  good  does  it  do  ?  "  It  is  easy  to 
answer  these  questions  if  applied  to  the  zoological 
novel.  Neither  is  the  historical  tale  troublesome. 
It  is  a  good  thing  to  know  something  about  ani- 
mals, and  the  history  of  human  events  is  not  to 
be  despised. 

It  takes  a  cultivated  mind  to  enjoy  flowers  for 
their  own  sake.  A  farmer  may  be  interested  in 
apple-blossoms,  but  it  is  not  for  their  beauty  that 
he  looks  at  them.  It  is  solely  as  an  indication  of 
the  coming  yield  of  fruit.  If  he  should  meet  with 
a  strange  plant  in  the  woods,  his  attention  attracted 
by  a  highly  colored  flower,  his  first  thought  would 
be,  "  What  is  it  good  for  ?  "  If  it  be  of  no  use,  or 
in  any  wise  deleterious,  it  is  cut  down  ruthlessly 
as  a  noxious  weed.  Precisely  so  does  the  average 
mind,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  sometimes  the  culti- 
vated mind,  deal  with  literature.  If  it  does  not 
directly  teach  something  useful  or  good,  it  is  re- 
jected. 

Now,  a  novel  may  have  a  moral  effect  in  many 
ways.  It  may  influence  positively  to  good  con- 
duct and  away  from  evil.  It  also  may  have  nega- 
tive effects  in  the  same  direction,  or  the  opposite. 
There  may  be  interjected  here  and  there  moral 
precepts  and  reflections,  with  arguments  to  prove 
how  much  better  it  is  to  worship  Jehovah  than 
Baal.  Stories  are  frequently  told  in  this  style  and 
win  great  popularity.  No  doubt,  so  far  as  they 
influence  at  all,  they  are  morally  beneficial.  They 


MORAL    VALUE    OF  FICTION.  2$ 

are  not  very  nourishing,  however.  Direct  preach- 
ing in  a  "  moral  tale  "  is  not  as  readily  absorbed 
as  natural  history  details  are  in  the  zoological 
novel.  It  is  much  more  tiresome.  But  if  a  moral 
or  religious  tale  could  be  constructed  after  the 
Salvation  Army  manner  of  doing  things — with 
much  that  is  startling  and  sensational — I  am  not 
at  all  sure  that  the  interlarded  sermons  would  not 
have  more  effect. 

But  this  method  of  improving  character  and 
conduct  is  very  crude  and  is  the  least  effectual. 
A  much  greater  influence  can  be  exercised  by  the 
development  of  plot  in  such  a  way  as  to  indicate 
the  true  relations  of  cause  and  effect  in  human  life, 
showing  the  results  of  good  and  evil  conduct  re- 
spectively. With  regard  to  this,  moral  sentiment 
has  generally  demanded  a  triumph  of  the  good 
in  the  event.  Successful  villany,  in  a  narrative, 
makes  the  reader  uncomfortable  at  least ;  and  in 
youthful  or  unbalanced  minds  may  inspire  to  a 
criminal  course  of  life,  through  false  apprehensions 
of  what  such  a  life  will  bring.  Thrilling  stories  of 
crime  have  often  induced  to  the  commission  of 
crime.  Boys  every  now  and  then  run  away  from 
home  to  fight  Indians,  after  reading  "  dime 
novels."  Occasionally  they  try  highway  robbery 
or  burglary  under  similar  inspiration.  Therefore, 
when  a  story  exalts  the  criminal  as  a  hero,  and 
makes  his  escape  from  justice  matter  for  congrat- 
ulation, the  effect  upon  dispositions  and  conduct 


26  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

is  no  doubt  immoral.  To  what  extent  this  im- 
moral force  is  derived  from  the  essential  untruth 
of  such  tales  is  a  very  serious  question,  to  which 
we  shall  refer  in  another  chapter.  At  all  events, 
they  are  not  read  by  the  experienced  and  edu- 
cated, and  their  influence  over  the  most  of  those 
who  would  read  them  is  doubtless  bad. 

It  would  be  going  very  far,  though,  to  condemn 
all  novels  which  do  not  finally  make  their  virtuous 
characters  happy  and  duly  punish  all  their  bad 
people.  When  we  come  to  consider  the  aesthetic 
value  of  fiction  and  to  make  comparisons  we  shall 
find  there  is-  intrinsic  morality  in  a  work  of  art. 
But  it  is  undeniable  that  the  demand  for  a  moral 
purpose  in  a  novel  is  so  extensive  that  the  ques- 
tion of  moral  influence  must  be  regarded  seriously. 
Making  heroes  of  murderers  and  pirates,  and  al- 
lowing them  a  reasonably  happy  and  successful 
life  is  certainly  not  wholesome  from  the  moralist's 
standpoint.  A  similar  condemnation  is  apt  to  fall 
upon  the  novelist  who  permits  a  good  principle  to 
be  vanquished  in  argument  by  a  bad  one.  Sophis- 
tries, evil  insinuations,  lies  of  all  sorts  can  be  made 
to  proceed  from  the  mouth  of  characters  in  a 
story  and  stand  without  effective  opposition  or 
contradiction.  No  doubt  harm  may  be  done  in 
this  way.  False  ideas  may  be  inculcated  and 
youth  corrupted.  But  we  should  be  careful  to 
remember  that  there  are  differences  of  opinion  as 
to  what  is  truth  and  what  is  truly  moral.  If  a 


MORAL    VALUE   OF  FICTION.  27 

Russian  liberal  were  to  write  a  romance  in  which 
persons  appear  who  give  utterance  to  revolution- 
ary sentiments,  the  book  would  be  considered  by 
the  government  to  be  pernicious  and  would  be 
suppressed.  One  living  in  a  free  country,  how- 
ever, would  see  nothing  bad  in  it,  and  would 
rather  applaud  the  sentiments.  It  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  one  great  value  of  fiction  is  that  it 
may  be  made  the  vehicle  of  the  free  expression  of 
opinions.  Our  disapproval  of  books  as  immoral 
should  therefore  be  given  cautiously.  We  must 
first  be  sure  what  is  moral  and  what  is  immoral. 

This  whole  subject  of  moral  value  in  works  of 
fiction,  being  educational,  relates  principally  to 
undeveloped  minds — ignorant  or  easily  influenced 
adults,  or  the  young  of  both  sexes.  The  solici- 
tude of  parents  for  the  welfare  of  their  children 
makes  them  extremely  jealous  of  any  hurtful  in- 
fluences. A  grown  person  of  average  intellect- 
ual strength  is  not  so  likely  to  be  moved  toward 
evil  courses  by  reading  a  romance  as  he  is  by  a 
conversation  with  a  plausible  but  wicked  acquaint- 
ance. There  is  an  element  of  personal  magnetism 
in  the  latter  case  which  is  wanting  in  the  former. 
The  influence  of  the  book  is  not  a  persisting  one  ; 
though  there  may  be  conviction  flowing  from  it, 
there  is  little  persuasion.  It  may  well  be  doubted 
if  fully  matured  persons  are  often  seduced  into 
harmful  courses,  or  materially  modified  in  char- 
acter by  a  novel.  But  it  is  quite  true,  on  the 


28  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

other  hand,  that  thought  has  been  stimulated  and 
important  popular  movements  inaugurated  and 
forwarded  by  works  of  fiction.  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin"  is  a  very  conspicuous  illustration.  A 
work  that  makes  an  impression  in  this  way  should 
never  be  condemned  as  immoral,  whatever  lesson 
it  may  inculcate.  It  is  an  expression  of  the 
thought  in  the  minds  of  multitudes  and  symp- 
tomatic of  an  evolutionary  movement  that  cannot 
be  suppressed  and  will  issue  in  some  change 
necessitated  by  present  conditions.  Agitation 
and  discussion  is  precisely  what  is  most  needed. 
And  while  we  may  totally  disagree  with  the  ideas 
of  the  author,  the  morality  of  liberty  of  expres- 
sion is  supereminent  in  such  a  case. 

We  shall  not  do  more  in  this  chapter  than  to 
point  out  very  generally  the  sources  of  moral 
qualities  in  a  work  of  fiction.  It  is  sufficiently 
clear,  I  trust,  that  they  are  the  possible  and 
patent  educational  influences.  This,  of  course, 
merely  introduces  the  topic;  which  will  continu- 
ally recur,  and,  indeed,  be  forced  upon  us  as  we 
proceed.  But  it  is  better  that  we  now  turn  to 
look  upon  the  artistic  side  of  the  general  subject. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE  /ESTHETIC   VALUE   OF  FICTION. 

IN  Chapter  II.  we  found  the  work  of  fiction  to 
be  a  product  of  the  constructive  powers  of  the 
human  intellect ;  such  product  being  an  object 
not  administering  directly  to  our  appetitive  neces- 
sities nor  satisfying  them ;  an  object  susceptible 
of  universal  enjoyment,  not  perishing  with  the 
using ;  an  object  in  which  the  disagreeable  is 
minimized.  The  constructive  power  is  the  innate 
activity  of  the  mind,  now  appearing  as  a  reaction 
to  environing  forces,  now  as  the  initiatory  power 
which  operates  upon  the  external  world,  the 
understanding  which,  as  the  German  philosophers 
say,  "  makes  nature." 

Mental  activity  is  a  source  of  pleasure  in  itself, 
as  is  exemplified  in  the  play-impulse.  Mere  exer- 
cise of  intellectual  powers  is  a  joy,  because  that 
exercise  tends  toward  growth  and  preservation. 
Inaction,  save  as  a  restful  alternative,  is  disin- 
tegrating and  destructive.  Play,  or  the  exercise 
of  activity  spontaneously  without  regard  to  fur- 
ther utility  than  lies  in  the  exercise  itself,  is 
characteristically  aesthetic.  When  an  end  is  pro- 


30  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

posed,  the  movement  toward  that  end  is  work, 
but  in  the  achievement  there  arise  emotions  which 
are  again  of  an  aesthetic  nature.  Doing  some- 
thing, producing,  accomplishing,  causing,  making 
experience,  making  nature — all  involve  that  cre- 
ative activity  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  art. 
There  is  truth  in  what  M.  Lucien  Arr£at  says:* 
"  L'tttment  esthttique  du  travail  ce  nest  pas  Fidee 
d  un  effet  utile,  mats  celle  de  la  difficult^  vaincue,  et 
qui  semble  vaincue  gratuitement"  f 

It  is  undoubtedly  the  case,  therefore,  that  any 
object  fabricated  by  the  hand  of  man  which  gives 
the  impression  of  skill,  of  difficulties  overcome,  of 
a  triumph  of  mind  over  matter,  of  successful  con- 
trivance, so  far  forth  produces  an  aesthetic  effect 
upon  the  spectator.  This  often  contributes  to 
heighten  the  admiration  which  comes  from 
thoughts  of  the  utility  of  the  object.  Frequently 
to  the  artistic  mind  it  is  the  principal  element  in 
whatever  pleasure  is  experienced.  But,  after  all, 
we  have  indicated  here  only  rudimentary  and 
undifferentiated  art.  We  are  directed,  however, 
to  the  subjective  and  creative  character  of  artistic 
products.  The  idea  of  skill,  of  accomplishment, 
is  always  present  in  the  fine  as  well  as  the  me- 
chanic arts. 

*  "  La  Morale  dans  le  Drame  1'Epopee  et  le  Roman,"  ch.  vi. 

f  "  The  aesthetic  element  in  work  is  not  the  idea  of  a  useful 
effect,  but  that  of  difficulty  conquered,  and  which  seems  con. 
quered  freely." 


AESTHETIC    VALUE   OF  FICTION.  31 

The  constructive  activity  is  synthetic,  as  indeed 
is  all  mental  activity.  It  unites  a  manifold  of 
particulars  into  a  whole,  whose  parts  have  an 
organic  connection.  It  aims  primarily  to  make 
this  whole  distinct  and  well  defined.  Although  it 
uses  the  particular  parts  as  material,  it  associates 
them  into  a  unity  clearly  separate  from  other 
unities.  This  does  not  require  that  the  parts 
shall  be  distinctly  apprehended  in  detail.  They 
must,  however,  be  consonant  with  and  contribute 
to  the  general  unity.  They  are  subordinate  to 
the  whole,  which  is  the  ideal  construction.  Hence 
a  work  of  art  must  be  an  evident  unity,  capable 
of  making  an  impression  as  such  upon  the  one 
who  is  to  enjoy  it.  Whether  or  not  it  have 
a  "purpose,"  it  must,  at  least,  have  a  plan.  It 
must  have  an  idea,  to  which  the  details  of  work- 
ing out  are  relevant  and  homogeneous.  The  gen- 
eral effect  on  the  beholder  must  be  centripetal, 
not  centrifugal.  The  attention  must  be  concen- 
trated, not  scattered. 

The  voluntary  action  of  the  mind  is  always 
selective.  It  chooses  some  things  and  rejects 
others.  Its  movement,  already  remarked,  is  toward 
pleasure  and  away  from  pain.  Nevertheless,  it 
cannot  wholly  escape  the  latter.  Painful  experi- 
ences force  themselves  upon  us.  The  ends,  then, 
which  we  propose  to  ourselves  are  ends  of  happi- 
ness, misery  being  eliminated.  Thus  we  form 
ideals  of  existence,  which  are  of  better  states  and 


32  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

conditions  than  we  actually  encounter,  and  which 
we  are  all  the  time  endeavoring  to  realize.  So  in 
art  it  is  not  enough  merely  to  construct  a  unity  of 
harmoniously  related  parts,  but  this  integer  must 
be  so  selected  as  to  arouse  agreeable  feelings.  It 
must  satisfy  our  ideals  of  excellence.  The  sight 
of  a  beautiful  landscape  inspires  pleasure  of  an 
aesthetic  character.  The  reproduction  of  this  land- 
scape upon  canvas  or  paper  by  the  hand  of  the 
artist  also  gives  delight,  because  it  is  a  representa- 
tion of  a  pleasurable  experience.  The  same  land- 
scape, however,  may  be  painted  so  as  to  fail  utterly 
in  repeating  the  agreeable  impression.  This  may 
arise  from  inaccuracy  in  depicting  the  various  ob- 
jects. It  also  may  occur  because  the  artist  fails 
to  select  those  objects  in  the  view  which  are  most 
essential  in  creating  the  impression.  If  he  intro- 
duces these  last  with  correctness,  he  may  be  inac- 
curate in  minor  features  and  may  even  omit  a 
great  many  things  altogether.  If  he  gets  the  right 
perspective,  the  true  proportions  of  objects,  the 
proper  lights  and  shades,  the  general  effects  of 
color,  he  is  successful.  It  is  indispensable  that  he 
understand  how  to  seize  upon  the  chief  factors 
of  the  total  impression  and  reproduce  them  with 
fidelity  in  the  picture. 

Again,  an  aesthetic  pleasure  may  be  secured  if 
the  artist  changes  the  landscape  by  varying  its 
essential  features,  leaving  out  some  and  introduc- 
ing others  not  in  the  scene  originally.  If  this  be 


AESTHETIC   VALUE   OF  FICTION.  33 

done  in  obedience  to  an  ideal  of  improvement,  so 
long  as  those  congruities  are  preserved  which  are 
essential  to  the  conception  of  a  landscape,  the 
result  is  truly  aesthetic  and  may  be  more  pleasing 
than  in  the  former  case.  The  effect  would  be 
greatly  marred,  indeed,  if  the  picture  purported  to 
present  a  view  of  some  particular  locality  with 
which  the  beholder  is  familiar  and  he  should  see 
that  it  was  untrue.  But  if  it  were  so  named  as  to 
indicate  no  special  location,  its  artistic  character 
would  not  be  impaired  by  the  departure  from 
reality  of  which  I  have  spoken. 

Once  more,  an  entirely  imaginative  landscape 
may  be  painted  which  will  elicit  admiration  and 
seem  more  wonderful  than  any  copy  from  nature, 
provided  always  that  there  are  maintained  faith- 
fully "  les  rapports  et  les  dtpendances  mutuelles  des 
parties."  *  The  idea  of  a  landscape  must  be 
realized  and  no  violence  done  to  it.  Idealizing 
and  improvement  there  may  be,  but  not  carried 
so  far  as  to  destroy  the  distinctive  character  of  the 
picture. 

We  are  now  prepared  for  the  remark  that  there 
may  be  an  aesthetic  value  in  a  copy  of  nature, 
because  nature  is  continually  developing  aesthetic 
emotions  in  the  human  mind.  But  not  all  nature 
does  this.  Much  that  we  encounter  in  the  physical 
world  arouses  feelings  the  very  reverse  of  aesthetic. 

*  "  The  harmony  and  organic  connection  of  the  parts." —  Veron. 


34 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


The  mere  copying  of  a  natural  object  does  not 
result  in  a  work  of  fine  art.  It  may  have  that 
artistic  merit  of  which  we  spoke  a  little  while  ago, 
which  springs  merely  from  the  fact  that  it  is  a 
work  of  skill,  a  use  of  matter  by  mind,  a  combining 
of  earth  and  oil  to  express  an  idea.  But  this  con- 
sideration may  be  wholly  offset  by  the  repellent 
character  of  the  object  itself,  respecting  which 
there  can  be  no  interest  in  reproducing.  More  is 
required.  It  is  aesthetic  nature  which  must  be 
reproduced  to  be  of  the  most  complete  and  the 
highest  artistic  value.  The  natural,  if  it  be  non- 
aesthetic,  must  be  excluded,  regarding  the  matter 
from  the  purely  aesthetic  point  of  view. 

It  is  thus  evident  that  we  may  justifiably  divide 
works  of  art  into  two  grand  divisions,  the  one  of 
reproductive  and  the  other  of  creative  art.  As 
has  been  seen,  the  two  may  be  mingled  in  the 
same  product ;  but  the  distinction  will  be  found  a 
useful  one  and  important  to  be  held  in  mind  in 
judging  artistic  work. 

Applying  the  foregoing  observations  to  the  form 
of  literary  construction  which  is  the  subject  of 
this  essay,  we  discover  that  we  have  both  the 
reproductive  and  the  creative  varieties  in  varying 
proportions.  At  first  thought  we  might  say  that 
the  zoological  and  the  historical  novel  furnish  the 
best  examples  of  the  former.  But,  in  fact,  to  the 
extent  that  they  are  zoological  and  historical, 
they  are  not  fiction  at  all.  They  are  supposably 


AESTHETIC    VALUE   OF  FICTION. 


35 


science,  and  though  science  may  be  presented 
artistically  and  have  an  aesthetic  value,  it  is  not 
there  that  we  look  for  pure  art.  But  whether 
history,  natural  or  political,  be  written  in  an  artistic 
manner,  it  is  not  our  theme  at  present.  Where, 
then,  do  we  find  reproductive  art  in  fiction  ? 

We  shall  find  it  in  description  of  scenery,  of 
inanimate  and  animate  objects,  of  the  multifold 
products  of  man's  activity  which  conform  to  the 
things  seen  in  actual  experience.  These  various 
objects  may  or  may  not  be  really  existent.  Fre- 
quently they  are,  but  are  transplanted  from  one 
locality  to  another  with  perhaps  very  different 
surroundings.  Or,  the  scene  may  be  laid  in  a 
well-known  place  and  accurate  descriptions  given 
of  what  may  actually  be  found  there.  This  is  the 
most  common  method  of  providing  a  setting  for 
the  human  characters,  of  establishing  a  habitat  for 
the  movement  of  life.  Where  this  is  done,  pre- 
cisely the  same  principle  applies  as  in  the  case  of 
the  landscape  painter.  The  description  must  be 
of  such  a  quality  as  to  produce  an  aesthetic  effect. 
The  essential  features  must  be  seized  upon  and 
brought  to  the  mind  of  the  reader. 

Reproductive  art  is  also  manifested  in  the  char- 
acters and  their  action.  However  much  the 
author  may  strive,  he  cannot  get  out  of  the  circle 
of  human  experience.  Men  must  be  men,  and 
women  must  be  women.  They  must  have  pas- 
sions, opinions,  motives,  instincts,  appetites. 


36  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

Knowing  this,  very  many  writers  think  the  safe 
way  is  to  study  some  individual,  who  becomes  the 
prototype  of  the  character  in  fiction.  The  shrewd 
Yankee,  the  fickle  Frenchman,  the  rampant  and 
obstreperous  Irishman,  the  phlegmatic  German, 
the  comical  Negro,  who  are  familiar  in  works  of 
fiction,  have  frequently  their  originals  in  real  life. 
All  the  physical  and  moral  traits  of  humanity  are 
continually  reproduced  in  current  stories,  the  suc- 
cess of  which  is  due  in  many  instances  to  the  ac- 
curacy of  reproduction.  This  representation  is, 
of  course,  extended  to  the  general  aspects  of  so- 
cial life  in  the  way  mentioned  in  the  last  part  of 
Chapter  III.  The  historical  novelists  have  done 
this  very  extensively,  but  not  more,  after  all,  than 
the  schools  of  analytical  writers.  Dickens,  Thack- 
eray, Bulwer,  George  Eliot,  Balzac,  Mr.  Howells, 
Dr.  Edward  Eggleston — all  present  distinct,  evi- 
dent, and  powerful  reproductions  of  real  life  and 
society.  They  reflect  the  times  and  the  courses 
of  events  of  the  places  and  periods  of  which  they 
write. 

But  just  at  this  point  we  ought  to  note  the  en- 
trance of  creative  art.  Even  if  a  character  have  a 
living  prototype,  it  is  easy  to  modify  it  according 
to  the  author's  fancy.  The  plan  of  his  work  may 
require  the  development  of  such  thought  and 
action  that  a  living  person  may  be  taken  as  a 
basis,  and  traits  he  has  not  may  be  added  unto 
him.  Then,  again,  some  curious,  well-emphasized 


AESTHETIC   VALUE   OF  FICTION.  37 

trait  may  be  subtracted,  like  the  rib  from  Adam's 
side,  and  a  wholly  ideal  being  may  be  constructed 
around  it.  Probably  the  most  of  novelists'  char- 
acters are  made  up  in  this  way  or  are  composite 
productions,  a  head  being  obtained  from  one 
model,  a  heart  from  a  second,  a  virtue  from  this, 
a  weakness  from  the  other,  and  so  on.  It  is  hard 
to  separate  the  representation  from  the  creation. 

Another  form  of  mixed  reproduction  and  imag- 
ination occurs  where  the  writer  portrays  an  his- 
torical personage  with  some  foundation  of  fact, 
supplemented  by  the  writer's  general  conception, 
the  truth  of  which  is  not,  perhaps  cannot  be, 
ascertained.  The  hero  is  endowed  with  such 
qualities  as  the  author  thinks  a  man  of  his  deeds 
ought  to  have  had,  and  is  made  to  act  as  such  a 
personage  would  most  probably  have  acted.  In 
Miss  Muhlbach's  novels,  before  referred  to,  there 
is  much  of  this  sort  of  writing.  Historical  novels 
generally  abound  in  such  portraiture.  Mr.  Rider 
Haggard  exemplifies  it  in  "  Cleopatra,"  both  with 
respect  to  the  Egyptian  queen  and  to  Antony. 
George  Eliot  has  developed  her  Savonarola  in 
"Romola"  after  this  fashion.  In  all  such  in- 
stances only  study  will  enable  the  reader  to  know 
what  is  historical  and  what  is  imaginative.  Some- 
times investigation  will  reveal  fidelity,  and  at 
others  gross  libels  will  be  found  to  have  been  per- 
petrated. 

Beyond  productions  like  these,  creative  art  goes 


38  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

on  to  limitless  constructions  of  ideal  characters, 
in  which  one  sentiment  or  another  dominates, 
and  in  which  all  possible  evolutions  and  involu- 
tions of  human  feeling,  thought,  and  volition  are 
traced  to  their  ultimate  consequences,  as  imag- 
ined. The  world  of  fiction  is  peopled  with  unique, 
grand,  dwarfed,  virtuous,  wicked,  beautiful,  ugly 
individualities,  which  impress  themselves  in  one 
way  or  another  upon  the  readers  of  books,  always 
exciting  interest  and  receiving  now  admiration, 
and  now  detestation,  according  to  the  sentiments 
of  those  who  make  their  acquaintance. 

In  depicting  the  action  and  reaction  of  social 
forces  there  is  the  same  scale  of  variation,  from 
simple  reproduction  to  the  most  lofty  ideal  con- 
ceptions of  what  ought  to  be.  Heaven  has  been 
imagined,  and  heavens  on  earth.  The  ideals  of 
beauty  intrinsic,  of  the  beauty  there  is  in  truth 
and  in  goodness,  have  been  used  to  produce  and 
place  before  others,  as  universal  property  to  be 
enjoyed  forever,  enough  works  of  marvellous  crea- 
tion to  stand,  not  only  as  monuments  of  what 
heights  man's  genius  has  already  reached,  but  also 
to  declare  unto  us  convincingly  the  limitless  ca- 
pacities of  the  human  mind. 

We  have  hitherto  been  inquiring  what  objects 
arouse  aesthetic  feelings,  but  this  does  not  wholly 
fulfil  the  requirements  of  the  theme.  We  shall 
be  unable  to  understand  thoroughly  the  aesthetic 
value  of  fiction  without  a  deeper  study  of  the 


ESTHETIC    VALUE   OF  FICTION. 


39 


nature  and  meaning  of  aesthetic  emotions  in  gen- 
eral. If  works  of  art  are  those  which  arouse  such 
emotions,  what  are  the  emotions  themselves  and 
their  value?  We  shall,  perhaps,  be  able  to  answer 
these  questions  sufficiently  without  wearying  the 
reader  too  much  with  psychological  detail  ;  but, 
in  order  to  find  any  answer,  a  reference  to  the 
laws  which  express  the  constitution  of  the  human 
mind  is  necessitated. 

Pleasure  satisfies.  It  suspends  action  except  in 
furtherance  of  its  continuance.  It  is  an  end  in 
itself.  It  is  a  concomitant  of  vitality,  an  expres- 
sion of  the  fulness  of  life.  The  more  complete 
and  unalloyed  it  is,  the  stronger  is  the  sense  of 
vital  power,  of  permanence,  of  exhaustless  energy. 
But  change  is  necessary  to  life  and  to  pleasure. 
Monotony  of  pleasure  is  a  pain  which  moves  to 
new  exertion  to  attain  something  else.  Life,  then, 
is  a  struggle  between  life-giving  and  life-maintain- 
ing forces  on  the  one  hand,  and  disintegrating 
and  destroying  forces  on  the  other.  But  pleasure 
is  not  wholly  correspondent  with  physical  life ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  deterioration  of  the  body  and 
the  failure  of  its  appetites  does  not  take  away  the 
capacity  for  pleasurable  experience.  This  is  ow- 
ing to  the  representative  power  which  in  one  of 
its  exercises  reproduces,  though  in  less  degree 
of  intensity,  pleasures  previously  enjoyed  ;  and  in 
another  out  of  the  elements  of  past  experiences 
produces  new  objects  which  excite  pleasure.  "  Le 


40  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

plaisir  est  la  jouissance  actuelle  des  sens ;  c'est  une 
satisfaction  enttire  qui  on  leur  accorde  dans  tout  ce 
quils  appe'tent ;  et  lorsque  les  sens  epuise's  veulent  du 
re"pos  ou  pour  reprendre  haleine  ou  pour  se  refaire, 
le  plaisir  devient  de  r imagination ;  elle  se  plait  a 
re'fle'chir  au  plaisir  que  sa  tranquillite'  lui  procure"* 
It  is  quite  true,  therefore,  that  pleasures  of  imag- 
ination, both  reproductive  and  productive,  may 
subsist  in  the  midst  of  racking  pain  and  with  the 
knowledge  that  life  is  ebbing.  But  when  they 
are  felt  under  such  circumstances,  it  is  still  the  case 
that  they  are  identical  in  their  nature  with  pleas- 
ures experienced  in  exuberant  health.  There 
comes  into  the  consciousness  the  same  feeling  of 
satisfaction,  of  rest,  of  life,  though  it  may  not  be 
complete  or  long-continued.  For  the  moment, 
however,  the  mind  is  lost  in  a  conscious  state 
which  is  good  in  itself,  though  it  almost  instantly 
be  recalled  to  painful  conditions.  In  the  experience 
of  pleasure  the  person  is  taken  out  of  time  and 
motion  and  change,  into  eternity,  permanence,  rest. 
He  simply  is  ;  past  and  future  are  irrelevant.  But 
pain,  even  if  it  be  merely  uneasiness,  reveals  the 
need  of  action  and  stimulates  him  to  effort  to  real- 

*  "  Pleasure  is  the  actual  experience  of  the  senses.  It  is  a  com- 
plete satisfaction  accorded  to  them  in  all  that  they  seek  ;  and  when 
the  senses,  wearied,  need  repose,  either  to  take  breath  or  to  ac- 
quire new  strength,  pleasure  becomes  an  affair  of  the  imagination. 
This  faculty  takes  delight  in  reflecting  on  the  pleasure  its  own  tran- 
quillity procures  for  it." — "Memoires  de  Jacques  Casanova  de 
Seingalt" 


AESTHETIC    VALUE   OF  FICTION.  41 

ize  happiness  under  the  guidance  of  his  recollec- 
tions of  what  has  been  and  his  ideals  of  what  may 
be. 

Pleasure  is  thus  always  the  same  thing.  It  is 
an  ultimate  consciousness  which  can  only  be  un- 
derstood by  experience.  It  is  the  sense  of  life, 
of  existence,  and  the  powers  which  existence  im- 
plies. It  varies  only  in  respect  to  quantity.  A 
pleasure  as  pleasure  is  only  greater  or  less  than 
another.  The  different  kinds  of  pleasures  receive 
their  distinctive  character  wholly  from  intellectual 
attachments.  We  describe  and  define  our  pleas- 
ures and  pains  according  to  our  intellectual  ap- 
prehension of  the  objects  which  are  before  the 
mind  when  the  pleasure  is  present,  and  which 
may  be  regarded  as  its  causes.*  Therefore,  hav- 
ing indicated  what  pleasurable  feeling  is  in  itself, 
when  we  say  that  aesthetic  pleasure  is  pleasure 
aroused  by  those  objects  which  we  have  defined 
as  aesthetic,  we  have  compassed  the  whole  matter, 
so  far  as  general  explanation  is  possible.  But  in 
order  to  a  clearer  understanding,  there  are  some 
things  yet  to  be  noted. 

./Esthetic  objects  are  chiefly  apprehended  by 
the  eye  and  the  ear.  A  more  close  analysis  would 
show,  I  am  persuaded,  that  these  are  not  the 
only  aesthetic  senses ;  but  for  the  purposes  of 
this  treatise  we  can  rest  content  with  taking  into 

*  "  System  of  Psychology,"  chaps,  lix.,  xliii.,  xlv.,  lii. 


42  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

account  only  objects  of  sight  and  hearing,  inas- 
much as  they  furnish  substantially  all  the  mate- 
rial for  aesthetic  perception  as  it  is  commonly  un- 
derstood. These,  however,  are  distinctively  and 
prominently  representative  senses,  their  objects 
deriving  importance  chiefly  from  and  producing 
their  effects  mainly  by  means  of  the  associations 
which  they  evoke  in  the  mind.  This  is  pecul- 
iarly the  case  with  objects  of  sight  in  general 
and  with  spoken  language.  We  need  not  here 
treat  of  the  primary  stimulation  of  light  and 
sound,  which  is  sensational  in  its  nature.  It  is 
through  perceptive  activity,  forming  distinct  and 
definite  objects  of  their  material  and  connecting 
these  with  past  experiences,  that  the  eye  and  the 
ear  attain  their  transcendent  importance  as  minis- 
ters to  mental  life. 

It  should  be  observed,  further,  that  pleasures 
from  aesthetic  objects  are  contemplative.  The 
one  who  enjoys  them  is  not  striving.  He  is  a 
recipient,  his  mind  only  and  not  his  body  being 
active.  He  looks  upon  a  beautiful  picture  or 
statue.  He  quiescently  reads  a  book  or  listens  to 
music.  These  stir  within  him  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings of  past  delights  and  awaken  ideals  of  new 
ones  with  inspirations  to  their  realization.  But  it 
must  not  be  thought  that  contemplation  means 
intellectual  inactivity.  On  the  contrary,  the  rep- 
resentative or  imaginative  activities  are  stimulated, 
the  increase  of  energy  coming  with  the  pleasur- 


VALUE   OF  FICTION. 


43 


able  contemplation  expending  itself  in  further 
reminiscence,  in  constructions,  and  in  volitional 
impulses.  And  this  leads  us  back  to  our  observa- 
tions at  the  commencement  of  the  chapter,  to  the 
effect  that  the  joy  of  activity  for  its  own  sake  is 
aesthetic.  Play  is  the  symbol  of  exuberance  of 
life  and  indicates  strength  and  happiness,  over- 
flowing and  demanding  expenditure.  The  same 
fulness  of  vitality  urges  the  artist  to  reproducing 
and  creating,  and,  in  our  contemplation  of  his 
work,  enters  into  our  own  pleasure  and  excites 
that  admiration  of  skill  of  which  we  also  spoke. 

If  we  have  correctly  apprehended  the  nature  of 
aesthetic  pleasure,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  appreci- 
ation of  art  and  the  art-impulse  are  inherent  in 
the  nature  of  man  as  a  conscious  being,  and  are 
not  the  products  of  civilization.  They  exist  in  the 
savage  as  well  as  in  the  enlightened,  though  ex- 
hibited in  a  different  way.  If  only  there  be  a 
representative  faculty,  there  must  be  art  and  ob- 
jects which  excite  aesthetic  interest ;  and  without 
a  representative  power,  consciousness  is  not  possi- 
ble. That  these  statements  are  historically  true 
will  be  seen  by  any  one  who  familiarizes  himself 
with  the  habits  of  primitive  and  barbarous  men. 
He  will  find  language,  and  with  it  oratory  and 
poetry,  music,  the  dance,  always  religion  and  also 
architecture  ;  all  of  which  distinctly  declare  the 
aesthetic  sentiment.  But  as  civilization  advances, 
the  objects  which  develop  aesthetic  interests 


44 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


change,  those  which  were  potent  in  a  lower  stage 
being  of  no  influence  or  value  whatever  in  the 
higher.  Even  in  the  same  grade  of  enlightenment 
what  will  appeal  to  one  will  not  appeal  to  another. 
This  brings  to  view  again  the  importance  of  vari- 
ations of  individual  temperament  and  character  in 
considering  questions  of  the  appreciation  of  works 
of  art,  to  which  we  alluded  at  the  beginning  of  the 
first  chapter. 

To  return  now  to  our  special  theme — works 
of  fiction  excite  interest  through  language,  and, 
prominently,  written  language.  Language  ap- 
peals both  to  the  ear  and  the  eye,  but  is  primarily 
a  means  of  communication  between  human  beings 
addressed  to  the  ear.  If  we  bear  this  in  mind,  we 
shall  more  readily  arrive  at  the  exact  value  of  fic- 
tion. We  shall  recur  to  the  relations  it  bears  to  lit- 
erature in  general  (Chapter  I.).  We  shall  perceive 
that  the  story  or  tale  is  something  which  one  per- 
son (the  author)  has  to  tell  others  about  real  or 
possible  relations  of  human  beings  to  each  other — 
about  man  in  his  individual  development  and  in 
society.  It  is  generically  a  means  of  communica- 
tion between  man  and  man.  This  is  by  no  means 
all,  but  it  is  at  least  this.  But  in  order  to  be 
aesthetic,  it  must  be  such  a  production  as  to  inter- 
est and  please  the  reader.  As  already  remarked, 
it  may  accomplish  this  end  either  by  reproduction 
or  creation.  The  question,  then,  is  suggested : 
How  far  should  the  writer  of  fiction  cultivate  re- 


AESTHETIC    VALUE   Of  FICTION.  45 

productive  and  how  far  creative  art?  Is  the  truest 
art  found  in  the  one  or  the  other  ?  If  we  say  in  the 
latter,  then  how  far  is  the  former  necessary  for 
creation,  since  creation  is  only  a  new  combination 
of  the  materials  given  us  in  nature  ?  These  ques- 
tions will  introduce  an  important  controversy  and 
will  enable  us  to  study  a  movement  in  literature 
which  has  recently  become  quite  predominant. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

REALISM   AND   IDEALISM. 

IN  considering  the  special  topic  of  this  chapter, 
it  will  be  advantageous  for  us  to  reflect  upon  the 
thought  contained  in  the  two  following  quotations. 
The  first  is  from  a  "  History  of  English  Prose 
Fiction,"  by  Bayard  Tuckerman :  "  A  novelist, 
then,  is  realistic  or  not  realistic  according  to  the 
views  which  he  and  his  readers  entertain  of  nature. 
To  the  optimist,  to  the  youthful  and  romantic, 
'  The  Heart  of  Midlothian  '  and  '  Guy  Manner- 
ing  '  will  seem  a  truthful  representation  of  life. 
The  more  worldly  and  practical  will  find  their 
idea  of  reality  in  '  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,'  in 
'  Vanity  Fair,'  in  the  '  Prime  Minister.'  And 
finally,  those  whose  tastes  or  lot  has  kept  them 
'  raking  in  the  dirt  of  mankind '  will  think  their 
view  of  truth  best  expressed  by  '  Nana '  and 
'  L'Assommoir.'  " 

The  second  passage  is  from  the  preface  of 
"  Pierre  et  Jean,"  by  M.  Guy  de  Maupassant : 
"  Our  eyes,  our  ears,  our  sense  of  smell,  our 
sense  of  taste,  differing  as  they  do,  create  as 
many  truths  as  there  are  men  upon  earth.  And 


REALISM  AND   IDEALISM. 


47 


our  minds,  which  receive  the  instruction  of  these 
organs,  differently  impressed,  understand,  analyze, 
and  judge  as  if  each  of  us  belonged  to  a  distinct 
race.  Each  one  of  us,  therefore,  forms  for  him- 
self an  illusion  of  the  world,  an  illusion  poetical, 
sentimental,  joyous,  melancholy,  unclean,  or  dis- 
mal, according  to  his  nature." 

It  seems,  therefore,  that  whether  a  work  con- 
forms to  nature  or  not  depends  in  the  reader's 
mind  upon  what  he  knows  of  nature  ;  upon 
nature  as  it  is  to  him.  If  a  story  is  true  to  life, 
it  means,  to  the  ordinary  reader  at  least,  that  life 
with  which  he  is  acquainted.  It  must  appeal  to 
his  own  experience. 

Nevertheless,  uninteresting  subjects  are  often 
by  some  sort  of  artistic  power  made  interesting  ; 
the  common,  the  unlovely  arrest  our  attention 
because  of  the  excellence  of  the  reproduction. 
In  his  little  treatise  for  beginners,  entitled  "  The 
Elements  of  Drawing,"  Mr.  Ruskin  says :  "  Go 
into  your  garden  or  into  the  road  and  pick  up 
the  first  round  or  oval  stone  you  can  find,  not 
very  white,  nor  very  dark ;  .  .  .  now,  if  you 
can  draw  that  stone  you  can  draw  anything;  I 
mean,  anything  that  is  drawable.  Many  things 
(sea-foam,  for  instance)  cannot  be  drawn  at  all,  only 
the  idea  of  them  more  or  less  suggested ;  but  if 
you  can  draw  the  stone  rightly,  everything  within 
reach  of  art  is  also  within  yours."  So  it  is  with 
the  portrayal  of  character.  Select  any  person 


48  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

whom  you  know  and  will  take  as  a  model  for  your 
description.  No  matter  how  common  the  person 
may  be,  if  you  can  reproduce  him  to  the  mind  by 
words,  so  that  he  stands  forth  a  distinct,  living 
personal  character,  you  have  mastered  the  prime 
essential  of  the  art  of  fiction.  Without  the  power 
to  do  this  you  cannot  succeed  at  all.  If  you  have 
that  power,  you  may  not,  indeed,  become  a  great 
novelist,  but  you  can  write  a  novel. 

Let  us  see  what  this  portraiture  involves  and 
perhaps  the  foregoing  remarks  will  not  appear  so 
enigmatical.  You  must,  first  of  all,  give  some 
idea  of  the  habitation  in  which  the  soul  dwells. 
The  man's  personal  appearance  must  somehow  be 
indicated.  You  can  give  his  vital  statistics,  height, 
weight,  color  of  skin,  facial  contours,  hair,  chest 
measurement ;  you  can  add  a  minute  catalogue  of 
his  articles  of  apparel,  setting  them  forth  with  sci- 
entific accuracy ;  you  can  endow  him  with  a  cane, 
an  umbrella,  an  eye-glass ;  you  can  note  his  jewel- 
lery. All  this  may  take  up  pages  of  description, 
but  when  you  have  written  the  items  down  you 
have  not  proceeded  very  far  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  your  purpose.  Your  model  talks.  He 
says  "  Good  morning "  as  you  meet  him,  and 
remarks  that  it  is  a  fine  day.  He  says  many 
other  things,  and  you  can  put  on  paper  all  you 
remember  of  what  he  has  ever  said.  You  ob- 
serve him  for  several  days  and  jot  down  all  his 
remarks.  What  you  write  you  can  add  to  the 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM. 


49 


vital  statistics  under  a  new  heading:  "Jenkins: 
I.  How  he  looks.  II.  What  he  says."  You  may 
then  go  on  to  tell  what  he  does  habitually ;  what 
he  eats  and  drinks,  how  he  takes  exercise,  what 
papers  he  reads,  how  often  he  blows  his  nose. 
Having  described  his  conversation,  you  can  also 
speak  of  his  walk  under  a  third  caption:  "III. 
What  he  does."  All  this  accomplished,  you  can 
put  the  notes  together  and  hold  him  out  to  the 
reader  triumphantly :  "  This  is  Jenkins ;  I  have 
performed  a  work  of  art."  Pardon,  my  friend, 
you  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort.  You  have  not 
presented  Jenkins  at  all.  You  evidently  do  not 
know  him,  or  if  you  do,  you  have  given  us  no  in- 
telligible idea  of  him. 

Yet  who  does  not  recall  instances  of  tales  in 
which  such  a  course  is  pursued  ?  Page  upon  page, 
introducing  a  character  with  long,  ambulatory  de- 
scription, full  of  adjectives  of  sonorous  quality — 
the  author  evidently  flattering  himself,  when  he 
has  got  through,  that  he  has  painted  a  portrait. 
And  the  more  minute  the  details  are,  the  more 
realistic  is  the  narrative  said  to  be.  But  this  is 
not  realism,  although  many  writers,  from  following 
the  realistic  method,  err  in  just  this  way,  because 
they  do  not  understand  that  organic  unity  is  the 
essence  of  realism. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  it  is  impossible 
to  record  all  the  particulars  observable  in  any 
person.  If,  then,  we  simply  collect  all  we  can 
4 


go  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

and  stop  when  we  get  tired,  it  very  likely  will  be 
the  case  that  we  have  omitted  the  items  which,  if 
seized  upon,  would  have  rendered  all  the  rest 
unnecessary.  The  salient,  the  characteristic  feat- 
ures are  the  ones  needed ;  and  the  power  of  the 
writer  lies  in  his  ability  to  indicate  these  in  a  few 
words  of  characterization,  in  an  expression  from 
the  mouth  of  the  person  portrayed,  in  some  act 
peculiarly  and  essentially  his  own.  In  actual  con- 
tact with  people,  we  never  take  our  impressions 
by  constantly  dwelling  upon  details  and  adding 
them  up.  A  rapid,  selective,  associative  process 
goes  on,  by  which  a  totality  of  impression  is 
formed,  certain  features  or  actions  being  fastened 
upon  as  typical  indicia  of  character.  We,  there- 
fore, expect  the  literary  artist  to  do  for  us  what 
our  own  minds  would  do  if  we  saw  the  original  of 
the  portrait.  We  want  the  living  being,  not  a  lot 
of  chopped  fragments  placed  in  contiguity. 

If  these  remarks  have  force  with  respect  to  the 
exhibition  of  a  single  character,  they  have  still 
more  weight  as  applied  to  the  method  of  repro- 
ducing the  relations  of  human  beings  in  social  life. 
A  power  of  selection  is  absolutely  necessary,  or, 
instead  of  a  clear  and  distinct  picture,  we  shall 
have  a  monotonous,  incoherent  collection  of  unre- 
lated facts.  As  M.  Lemaitre  well  says :  *  "  The 
artist,  to  transport  his  models  into  the  romance  or 
upon  the  stage,  is  forced  to  choose,  to  retain  from 
*  ' '  Les  Contemporains  " :  Zola. 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  51 

the  reality  only  the  characteristic  traits  and  so  to 
dispose  of  them  as  to  cause  the  dominant  charac- 
ter to  appear  saliently,  whether  it  be  of  a  society 
or  of  a  single  individual." 

The  reproduction  of  nature  requires,  therefore, 
much  more  than  a  cataloguing  of  particular  items. 
But  while  this  last  will  never  produce  a  narrative 
which  is  realistic  in  any  proper  sense  of  the  term, 
the  process  which  the  maker  of  the  catalogue  goes 
through  is,  I  think,  indispensable  to  true  artistic 
reproduction.  The  trouble  is,  he  too  often  gives 
us  his  rough  notes,  his  studies,  instead  of  the 
completed  product  to  which  we  are  entitled. 
Neither  an  individual  character  nor  the  "milieu"* 
can  be  successfully  depicted  without  minute 
anatomical  dissection,  without  study  of  models  in 
every  particular.  The  more  profound,  the  more 
thorough,  the  more  indefatigable  that  study,  the 
greater  the  probability  of  success  in  the  repro- 
duction. The  aim  must  be  to  see  things  as  they 
are,  not  as  we  fancy  they  may  be.  This  requires 
patient,  careful,  trained  observation.  It  demands 
a  well-developed  capacity  for  generalization,  in- 
cluding classification.  It  needs  the  highest  culti- 
vation of  all  the  powers  of  association.  The  deep- 
est analysis,  the  most  comprehensive  synthesis  are 
alike  requisite.  He  has  a  very  superficial  idea  of 
the  matter  who  supposes  that  we  can  see  anything 
whatever  in  the  world  about  us  merely  by  opening 
*  Environment. 


52  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

our  eyes  and  allowing  the  light  to  form  objects  on 
the  retina.  This  affords  us  nothing  but  kaleido- 
scopic pictures  which  are  meaningless  without  the 
synthetical  activity  of  the  mind.  For  the  simplest 
perceptions,  memory,  inference,  imagination,  and 
generalization  are  called  into  use.  It  is  the  exer- 
cise of  these  faculties  that  gives  all  their  life  to  the 
objects  we  perceive. 

The  understanding  of  character  cannot  be  ef- 
fected by  simple  observation  of  other  men  and 
women  as  we  see  them  in  real  life.  Looks,  words, 
acts,  can  only  be  interpreted  by  a  reference  to 
the  author's  own  feelings,  motives,  desires.  He 
reads  the  doings  of  others  in  the  light  of  his  own 
sentiments.  Introspective  analysis  must  go  along 
with  extrinsic  observation.  He  can  note  what  a 
person  does  under  given  circumstances,  but  he  can- 
not comprehend  and  explain  that  action  except 
by  looking  within  his  own  consciousness.  It  thus 
happens  that  he  must  infuse  his  own  personality 
even  into  that  work  which  professes  to  be  no 
more  than  a  reproduction.  There  is  always  dan- 
ger that  he  may  do  this  to  an  extent  too  great ; 
but  if  he  looks  within  for  the  general  and  typical 
in  human  character  and  uses  this  as  his  measure, 
he  will  not  fail. 

In  order  to  appreciate  variations  from  his  own 
standards  and  see  clearly  the  operation  of  the 
countless  subtle  influences  that  determine  con- 
duct, the  writer  must  have  quick  and  ample  sym- 


REALISM  AND  -IDEALISM. 


53 


pathies.  He  must  be  able  to  put  himself  in  the 
place  of  his  characters,  feel  the  pressure  of  their 
circumstances,  observe  the  multifold  impacts  and 
counter-actions  of  environing  forces.  Their  inner 
lives  must  not  only  be  mirrored  in  his  mind,  but 
he  must  live  those  lives  himself,  be  moved  with 
their  emotions  and  governed  by  their  thoughts. 
When  thus  possessed,  with  his  interest  centred 
upon  his  model,  he  will  behold  the  character  as 
it  is,  he  will  seize  upon  the  essential  and  reject 
the  accidental ;  the  things  that  otherwise  would 
have  escaped  him  are  at  once  fastened  upon,  and 
when  he  is  ready  to  write,  the  literary  artist  will 
find  himself  in  the  condition  described  by  George 
Eliot  in  "  Adam  Bede,"  when  "  words  came  to 
me  as  tears  come  when  the  heart  is  full  and  we 
cannot  prevent  them."  These  words  will  be  the 
right  words,  they  will  be  clearly  and  distinctly 
descriptive ;  the  portrait  will  stand  out  at  last  like 
a  sculptured  figure  of  Apelles,  "  full,  and  round, 
and  fair."  This  and  this  only  is  realism  worth 
relying  upon. 

It  will  hence  be  seen  that  for  reproductive  work 
in  literary  fiction  that  reproduces  anything,  very 
much  the  same  processes  are  gone  through,  and 
the  same  powers  of  the  mind  called  into  exercise, 
as  in  creative  art.  It  must  be  evident  that  with- 
out skill  in  reproduction,  creation  is  not  possible. 
The  latter  is  recombination,  and  unless  the  ele- 
ments can  be  reproduced  with  accuracy  and  ful- 


54 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


ness,  there  is  little  chance  of  a  new  unity  being 
produced  which  signifies  anything  to  the  mind. 
Moreover,  it  is  by  the  persistent,  absorbing  study 
of  existing  objects,  of  things  and  of  men  as  they 
are,  that  the  idealizing  tendencies  are  stimulated 
and  set  free.  Having  a  realizing  sense  of  present 
woe,  feeling  sympathetically  the  pains  of  actual 
conditions,  the  desire  for  improvement  develops 
ideals  of  such  a  betterment,  the  constructive  ac- 
tivity of  imagination  suggests  means  for  attaining 
it,  and  forms  definite  pictures  of  what  joy  it  will 
bring  when  secured.  It  is  only  by  understanding 
what  is,  by  sympathy  with  sorrow  arousing  dis- 
satisfaction in  our  minds,  that  creative  intellect 
will  give  us  the  conception  of  something  better. 

A  very  profound  thought  is  often  suggested  to 
me  in  connection  with  that  picture  by  Raphael  in 
the  Vatican,  called  the  "  School  of  Athens."  It 
is  the  thought  of  a  teacher  of  mine,*  who,  calling 
attention  to  the  two  central  figures  of  the  picture 
— Plato  looking  and  pointing  upward,  Aristotle 
with  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the  ground — remarks: 
"  Philosophy,  where  its  inspiration  is  highest  and 
its  investigations  are  deepest,  reaches  the  same 
result,  no  matter  in  what  direction  it  starts. 
Plato,  beginning  with  the  heavens,  looked  so  com- 
prehensively that  he  saw  the  earth  shining  in  the 
light  of  the  skies,  and  Aristotle,  beginning  with 

*  President  J,  H.  Seelye,  of  Amherst  College — Inaugural 
Address. 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  55 

the  earth,  looked  so  deeply  that  he  saw  the  heav- 
ens beneath  it,  the  same  heavens  which  Plato  saw 
above."  In  like  manner  with  art  and  the  artist : 
he  who  fixes  his  eyes  intently  upon  the  earth, 
which  at  first  seems  to  limit  and  obstruct  his 
vision,  if  he  continue  his  gaze  with  concentrated 
attention,  will  discover  that  it  becomes  transfig- 
ured, that  the  opaque  inertness  is  interpenetrated 
with  light  and  life,  until  at  last,  through  its  clari- 
fied form,  he  beholds  also  the  shining  of  the  stars. 

I  cannot  but  think  this  last  method  to  be  the 
true  one,  both  for  thought  and  art.  Our  business 
here  is  with  the  world  about  us.  To  deal  with  it, 
we  must  know  it ;  and  our  knowledge  is  of  the 
concrete,  of  the  "  things  we  see."  The  immortal 
and  the  eternal  are  only  expressed  to  us  in  such 
terms,  and  I  am  sure  the  soul  of  nature  will  be 
found  in  the  deep  study  of  nature's  work,  rather 
than  in  any  inspiring  effort  toward  infinite  knowl- 
edge, whose  energy  must  needs  be  wasted  in  the 
vastness  and  discreteness*  of  a  space  which  sup- 
plies no  point  of  resistance,  nothing  upon  which 
concentration  is  possible.  Said  Gogol :  "  I  have 
studied  life  as  it  really  is,  not  in  dreams  of  the 
imagination ;  and  thus  I  have  come  to  a  concep- 
tion of  Him  who  is  the  source  of  all  life." 

M.  Zola  is  the  great  philosopher  of  the  present 
realistic  or  naturalistic  movement  in  fictitious  lit- 

*  I  use  this  term  in  a  philosophical  sense — discrete  as  opposed 
to  concrete. 


56  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

erature.  In  connection  with  what  has  been  said, 
it  may  be  well  for  us  to  learn  from  him  how  the 
realists  themselves  state  their  theory.  According 
to  M.  Zola,  realism  is  but  the  application  of  the 
scientific  methods  of  observation  and  experiment 
in  the  construction  of  a  work  of  literary  art.  In 
"  Le  Roman  Experimental,"  M.  Zola  takes  as  a 
text  Claude  Bernard's  "  Introduction  a  1'Etude  de 
la  Medicine  exp^rimentale,"  and  adopts  precisely 
the  method  therein  set  forth  as  the  method  the 
"  romancier "  ought  to  pursue.  This,  to  begin 
with,  is  the  close  and  accurate  observation  of 
nature.  But  immediately  a  very  important  and 
significant  addition  is  made ;  namely,  experiment. 
The  reader  is  at  once  impelled  to  ask,  What  can 
"  experiment "  possibly  mean  in  the  romancer's 
art?  Certainly  no  one  can  take  living  human 
beings,  put  them  into  different  environments  at 
will,  and  see  how  they  behave.  We  can  do  this 
with  chemical  elements,  and  to  some  extent  with 
animals,  but  our  power  in  this  respect  is  sadly  lim- 
ited when  we  deal  with  men  and  women.  What 
M.  Zola  means,  therefore,  must  be  something  dif- 
ferent. He  explains,  in  the  language  of  Bernard : 
"  We  give  the  name  of  observer 'to  him  who  applies 
the  processes  of  investigation,  simple  or  complex^ 
to  the  study  of  phenomena  which  he  does  not 
vary,  and  which  he  consequently  receives  as  nature 
offers  them  to  him.  We  give  the  name  of  experi- 
menter to  him  who  employs  the  processes  of  inves- 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  57 

tigation,  simple  or  complex,  to  vary  or  modify,  in 
accordance  with  some  purpose,  the  natural  phe- 
nomena, and  make  them  appear  under  circum- 
stances or  conditions  in  which  nature  does  not 
present  them."  The  observer  finds  "the  relations 
which  bind  any  phenomenon  to  its  proximate 
cause,"  *  or,  in  other  words,  determines  the  con- 
ditions necessary  to  the  manifestation  of  this  phe- 
nomenon. Then  the  experimenter  inaugurates, 
institutes,  a  series  of  events  in  accordance  with 
the  laws  of  cause  and  effect  discovered.  He  cre- 
ates personages  and  incidents  to  develop  naturally 
some  idea,  to  illustrate  some  general  fact  which 
he  has  observed.  This  "  idea  of  experiment  car- 
ries with  it  the  idea  of  modification.  We  set  out 
indeed  from  true  facts,  which  are  our  indestructi- 
ble foundation ;  but  to  reveal  the  mechanism  of 
the  facts  we  must  have  produced  and  directed  the 
phenomena.  There  lies  our  part  of  invention,  of 
genius  in  the  work."  "  We  ought  to  modify  nature 
without  emerging  from  nature  when  we  employ  in 
our  romances  the  experimental  method."  "The 
problem  is  to  know  what  a  particular  passion,  act- 
ing in  a  particular  environment  and  under  particu- 
lar circumstances,  will  produce,  both  as  regards 
the  individual  and  social  interest ;  and  an  experi- 
mental romance — '  Cousine  Bette/  for  example 
(Balzac) — is  simply  the  proems-verbal  of  the  experi- 

*  This  and  the  following  quotations  are  in  M.  Zola's  own  words. 


58  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

ment,  which  the  romancer  repeats  under  the  eye 
of  the  public.  To  sum  up,  the  whole  operation 
consists  in  taking  the  facts  of  nature,  then  study- 
ing the  mechanism  of  the  facts,  treating  them  by 
modifying  according  to  circumstances  and  environ- 
ment, without  ever  departing  from  the  laws  of 
nature."  "  It  is  undeniable  that  the  naturalistic 
romance,  as  we  understand  it  at  present,  is  a  true 
experiment  which  the  romancer  makes  upon  man, 
aiding  it  with  observation." 

It  is  quite  apparent  that  the  use  of  the  term 
experiment,  as  above,  is  unauthorized.  The  nov- 
elist does  not,  in  any  proper  sense,  perform  ex- 
periments. He  does  not,  in  fact,  vary  actual  con- 
ditions, but  only  imagines  them  varied,  deducing 
certain  conclusions  on  the  supposition  that  they 
are  thus  changed.  In  other  words,  he  makes  an 
hypothesis,  and,  having  settled  his  hypothetical 
foundation  or  point  of  departure,  he  makes  other 
hypotheses  conditioned  thereon.  There  may  be 
found  results  in  actual  life  which  verify  these  and 
enable  us  to  formulate  general  truths  about  hu- 
man nature.  Again,  such  verification  may  not  be 
possible ;  but,  whether  or  no,  the  process  is  one 
of  making  suppositions  and  drawing  inferences. 
Now  an  hypothesis  is  a  scientific  ideal.  It  is  a 
fiction,  conformable  to  experience  and  analogy, 
suggested  according  to  probabilities,  but  not  yet 
confirmed  by  more  certain  evidence.  It  is  a  pro- 
duct of  the  constructive  powers  of  the  intellect,  a 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM. 


59 


work  of  the  imagination ;  in  fine,  a  development 
of  creative  art.  Realism,  then,  requires  both  re- 
production and  creation,  and,  according  to  M. 
Zola,  the  latter  would  seem  to  be  of  the  greater 
importance. 

Let  us  also  at  this  point  take  account  of  the 
opinions  of  M.  de  Maupassant,  who  is  not  so 
much  of  a  philosopher  as  M.  Zola,  but  is  a  better 
artist.  He,  however,  has  his  theory  with  regard  to 
works  of  fiction,  like  the  author  of  "  Les  Rougon- 
Macquart,"  only  he  is  more  catholic.  He  does 
not  despise  the  idealist,  who  is  in  his  judgment 
really  a  poet,  but  he  prefers  the  realistic  or  natu- 
ralistic method  for  prose  fiction.  He  is  a  realist, 
though  not  a  bigoted  one.  In  his  view  the  ro- 
mance of  to-day  writes  "the  history  of  the  heart, 
the  soul,  the  intelligence,  in  the  normal  state.  To 
produce  the  effect  at  which  he  aims — that  is  to  say, 
the  impression  of  simple  reality — and  to  make 
clear  the  artistic  lesson  which  he  wishes  to  draw 
from  it — that  is,  the  true  revelation  of  contem- 
porary man  to  himself — he  ought  to  employ 
only  those  statements  whose  truth  is  unexception- 
able and  certain."  But  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  realists  themselves,*  their  theory  requires 
some  departure  from  that  expressed  by  the  words 
"  Rien  que  la  vtritt  et  toute  la  vtritt"  f  For,  their 

*  I  here  slightly  paraphrase  the  author's  text  in  the  preface  of 
"  Pierre  et  Jean." 

f  "  Nothing  but  the  truth  ;  and  the  whole  truth." 


60  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

intention  being  to  define  the  philosophy  of  certain 
constant  and  evident  facts  of  human  nature,  it  is 
necessary  to  correct  the  results  of  actual  observa- 
tion to  accord  with  probabilities,  since  the  true 
sometimes  is  not  probable.  The  true  realist,  then, 
"  if  he  be  an  artist,  will  seek,  not  to  exhibit  to  us 
a  commonplace  photograph  of  life,  but  to  give  us 
a  vision  of  it  more  complete,  more  striking,  and 
more  authentic  than  the  reality  itself."  Repro- 
ducing the  truth,  then,  consists  in  giving  a  com- 
plete vision  of  the  truth,  following  the  natural 
logic  of  the  facts,  and  not  transcribing  them  in 
servile  fashion  in  the  " p$le-m$le "  of  their  suc- 
cession. "  From  these  things  I  conclude  that  the 
realists  of  talent  ought  rather  to  call  themselves 
Illusionists." 

This  is  not  very  different  from  M.  Zola's  doc- 
trine, though  it  is  evident  that  M.  de  Maupassant 
would  sanction  a  wider  departure  from  the  stand- 
ard of  literal  reproduction  of  nature  than  would 
the  author  of  "  L'Assommoir."  But  both  of  them 
insist,  in  theory,  on  the  necessity  for  realism  of  se- 
lecting the  facts  to  be  recorded  and  of  tracing  out 
by  imagination  and  inference  the  supposed  nat- 
ural sequences  of  those  facts.  They  tell  us  in  one 
breath  to  follow  and  to  depart  from  nature.  We 
cannot  help  feeling  a  little  puzzled,  therefore,  to 
discover  what  is  the  ground  of  their  quarrel  with 
the  "  idealists."  Why  talk  about  "  naturalism  "  or 
"  realism,"  as  if  it  were  something  new,  or  as  if 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  6l 

it  disclosed  any  new  method  in  art  ?  All  artists 
who  have  succeeded  have  understood  that  it  is 
necessary  to  study  nature ;  that  it  will  not  answer 
the  purpose  to  paint  a  cow  on  the  hillside  in  the 
background  of  the  picture  so  that  it  looks  like  a 
guinea-pig  in  a  tree  in  the  foreground.  The  mas- 
ters of  fiction  at  all  periods  have  appreciated  that 
they  must  draw  their  characters  rightly  and  de- 
pict their  scenes  accurately.  The  one  must  be 
life-like,  the  other  natural,  and  in  accordance  with 
probabilities  and  congruities.  The  fiction  writer's 
art  must  necessarily  be  both  reproductive  and 
creative.  We  have  just  seen  how  creation  is  ab- 
solutely essential  to  reproduction  ;  and  how  if  we 
create  we  only  recombine  things  that  are  produced 
for  us  in  nature.  According  to  the  realists  them- 
selves, so-called  naturalism  does  not  indicate  any- 
thing else  beyond  these  two  processes,  both  of 
which  must  always  be  employed  and  which  are 
complementary  to  each  other. 

Thus,  while  we  may  agree  with  M.  Zola  that 
"  realism  "  expresses  a  method,  we  fail  to  perceive 
how  it  declares  a  distinctive  method,  or  one  which 
does  not  appertain  to  all  art.  It  must,  then,  be  in 
the  application  somewhere  that  an  issue  is  raised 
between  realists  on  the  one  side  and  idealists  or 
romantic  novelists  on  the  other.*  Let  us  look  to 
this  a  little. 

*  I  do  not  see  that  there  is  use  any  longer  for  the  division 
expressed  by  the  word  "  classicism. " 


62  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

If  a  writer  believes  that  he  ought  to  study  na- 
ture thoroughly,  letting  nothing  escape  him,  he 
will  devote  himself  to  the  observation  of  details 
and  concentrate  his  attention  upon  minutiae.  Un- 
less he  is  careful  he  will  find  himself  absorbed  in 
these  items.  He  will  collect  a  multitude  of  small 
unities  without  seeing  the  larger  unity  into  which 
they  might  be  combined.  These  details  will  be 
viewed  as  through  a  magnifying  glass,  which  en- 
larges their  importance  and  at  the  same  time  nar- 
rows the  field  of  vision.  There  is  danger  that  the 
writer  will  forget  that  the  reader  can  only  become 
interested  by  the  same  course  of  laborious  appli- 
cation that  the  author  has  pursued,  losing  sight 
of  the  fact  that  the  reader  has  not  the  inspiring 
purpose  which  animates  the  chronicler.  The  lat- 
ter will  work  to  produce  his  story  ;  the  former  will 
not  work  to  read  it.  Now  we  find  that  the  real- 
ists exemplify  the  foregoing  remarks  very  gen- 
erally and  characteristically,  none  more  so  than 
the  author  of  "  Les  Rougon-Macquart."  He 
declares  that  the  writer  of  a  romance  "  is  not  a 
moralist,  but  an  anatomist  who  contents  himself 
with  telling  what  he  finds  in  the  human  corpse."* 
He  says  that  the  formula  of  the  naturalistic  method 
in  literature  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  sciences, 
particularly  physiology.  It  is  a  searching  inquest 
into  the  vital,  organic  facts  of  individual  and  so- 

*  "  Les  Romanciers  Naturalistes." 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  63 

cial  life  in  all  their  manifestations.  *  So  in  his 
novels  he  heaps  up  details  in  masses  which  are 
appalling.  His  net  gathers  in  the  small  and  great. 
Collecting  everything,  he  must  needs  get  many 
things  that  are  characteristic  and  striking.  M.  Le- 
maitre  remarks  of  him  :  f  "  One  of  the  virtues  of 
M.  Zola  is  indefatigable  and  patient  energy.  He 
sees  clearly  concrete  things,  all  the  exterior  of 
life,  and  he  has  a  peculiar  faculty  of  describing 
that  which  he  sees.  His  is  the  power  of  retaining 
and  accumulating  a  greater  quantity  of  details 
than  any  other  of  the  same  school,  and  he  does  this 
coldly,  tranquilly,  without  weariness  or  disgust, 
and  giving  to  everything  the  same  even  prom- 
inence and  accent.  The  result  is  that  the  unity 
of  each  picture  lies  no  more  as  with  the  classic 
writers  in  the  subordination  of  the  details  (sel- 
dom numerous)  to  the  whole,  but,  if  I  may  say  so, 
in  their  interminable  monochromatic  quality." 

The  public,  said  Stendhal  in  one  of  his  letters, 
wants  a  greater  number  of  "  petit  J "aits  vrais,  upon 
a  passion  or  a  situation  in  life."  He  himself  tried 
to  satisfy  them  in  his  romances,  and  still  more  so 
did  his  great  follower  Balzac,  though  I  doubt  if 
the  mind  of  the  latter  was  occupied  with  the 
thought  of  any  magna  instauratio  in  literature  so 
much  as  of  himself  doing  a  monumental  work. 
But  Balzac  exhibits  the  acme  of  realism  in  por- 

*  "  Le  Roman  Naturaliste."  f  "  Les  Contemporains." 


64  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

trait  painting,  as  M.  Zola  does  in  presenting  the 
"  milieu"  The  record  of  two  thousand  of  these 
figures  depicted  with  the  utmost  fineness  of  analy- 
sis, with  item  upon  item  of  traits,  characteristics, 
habits,  appearances,  entitles  him  to  be  called,  in  the 
language  of  Taine,  as  next  after  Shakespeare,  our 
greatest  magazine  of  documents  on  human  nature. 
"  In  Balzac,"  observes  Henry  James,*  "  every  one 
who  is  introduced  is  minutely  described  ;  if  the 
individual  is  to  say  but  three  words  he  has  the 
honors  of  a  complete  enumeration."  Like  Stend- 
hal, the  author  of  the  "  Come'die  Humaine  "  fully 
believed  "  quit  nest  point  de  sensibility  sans  de"- 


The  naturalistic  romancer  who  is  thoroughly 
possessed  by  his  theory,  in  his  anxiety  to  be  faith- 
ful to  nature,  even  to  the  extent  of  recording  the 
revelations  of  the  microscope  upon  anatomy,  will 
be  prone  to  regard  it  as  his  duty  to  note  down  the 
"  details  scabreux"  Inasmuch  as  there  are  many 
facts  of  individual  and  social  life  of  which  people 
take  as  little  account  as  possible,  which  are  not 
mentioned  frequently  in  conversation,  and  upon 
which  the  minds  of  most  persons  are  not  fond  of 
dwelling,  novelists  in  general  have  not  thought 
proper  to  allude  to  them  in  their  stories,  or  if  they 
deem  it  necessary  to  make  allusion,  they  have 
done  so  rather  by  suggestion  and  with  a  light 

*  "  French  Poets  and  Novelists."     f  Stendhal  :  "  Son  Journal." 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  65 

touch.  The  "  naturalist,"  however,  because  of 
this  very  reticence,  is  at  once  impressed  with  a 
sense  of  incompleteness  and  empiricism  in  the 
works  of  such  romancers,  and  with  a  solemn  and 
stern  sense  of  obligation  proceeds  unflinchingly  to 
his  task  of  remedying  this  deficiency.  He  does 
not  consider  whether  or  not  the  unmentionable 
objects  or  incidents  are  necessary  to  the  plan  of 
his  work.  The  fact  that  in  real  life  they  may  be 
present  or  may  occur  is  enough  to  render  it  in- 
cumbent upon  him  to  introduce  them  in  the  story. 
Hence  they  are  presented  with  the  same  fulness 
and  minuteness  of  description  as  is  everything 
else,  despite  the  probable  shrinking  of  the  reader. 
Thus,  say  the  realists,  humanity  is  depicted  as  it 
is  and  the  whole  truth  is  told. 

This  same  relentless  determination  to  seek  and 
reveal  "  toute  la  vtritd"  influences  also  the  choice 
of  subjects  which  for  reasons  like  those  mentioned 
in  the  last  paragraph  have  not  been  fully  exploited. 
M.  Zola  thus  takes  possession  of  a  field  which 
before  his  time  has  not  been  at  all  thoroughly 
worked.  The  phase  of  life  chosen,  together  with 
his  naturalistic  theory,  hence  compel  the  presenta- 
tion to  the  reader  of  a  great  deal  that  is  malodor- 
ous, filthy,  and  disgusting.  Ordure,  putrescence, 
beastliness  must  necessarily  appear.  The  smell 
of  the  butcher-shop,  the  sewer,  the  markets,  the 
gin-mill,  the  barn-yard  is  made  real  to  us,  or  the 
author  aims  to  make  it  so.  "  Naturalism  "  is  even 
5 


66  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

carried  so  far  that  in  "  La  Terre  "  an  entire  chap- 
ter is  devoted  to  one  of  the  most  obscene  and  of- 
fensive incidents  of  intestinal  and  sphincterial  ac- 
tion. Similarly,  by  writers  like  M.  de  Maupassant, 
the  sexual  appetite  in  all  its  developments,  its  im- 
pulses, its  vagaries,  becomes  the  theme  to  be  an- 
alyzed and  illustrated  in  the  most  minute  partic- 
ulars. So  far  are  all  these  ideas  of  naturalism 
carried  that  we  are  quite  disposed  to  agree  with 
M.  Paul  Bourget  in  his  characterization  of  the 
"realists  "  as  "  the  fanatics  of  modern  literature  !  " 
The  last-named  critic  has  suggested  another  char- 
acteristic tendency  of  current  realism,*  namely, 
to  produce  a  "  mediocrity  of  heroes,  a  system- 
atic diminution  of  the  plot,  a  nearly  complete 
suppression  of  dramatic  facts."  He  instances 
"L'Education  Sentimentale "  of  Flaubert  as  the 
best-defined  model  of  this  sort  of  romance.  To 
this  tendency  I  referred  some  pages  back.  M.  Zola 
justifies  it,  as  well  as  he  can,  in  his  discussion. 
The  natural-history  method  has  no  need  of  plot. 
"  A  novel  was  formerly  a  record  of  adventure  ;  it 
is  now  a  study  of  character.  It  was  formerly  ob- 
jective dealing  with  the  actions  of  men  and  their 
outer  surroundings.  It  is  now  subjective  dealing 
with  the  mental  state,  the  impulses  and  passions, 
the  motives  and  principles  of  men,  and  using 
events  simply  as  the  machinery  of  the  story."  f 

*  "  Reflexions  sur  1'Art  du  Roman." 
f  W.  L.  Alden,  in  the  Galaxy. 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  6/ 

Inasmuch  as  the  most  are  not  cast  in  the  heroic 
mould,  ordinary  people  appear  as  affected  by  their 
different  environments.  The  extraordinary  is  the 
more  improbable,  both  as  to  characters  and  in- 
cidents. The  greater  portion  of  the  situations 
in  actual  life  are  not  dramatic,  and  the  more  we 
depart  from  what  is  common  and  recognized,  the 
more  certain  is  there  to  be  an  air  of  unreality 
about  the  narrative  which  is  not  congruous  with 
the  scientific  standard.  It  should  be  said  that 
writers  who  are  in  many  respects  realistic,  in  others 
oppose  many  of  the  tendencies  of  realism  of  which 
I  have  spoken  and  shall  speak.  Balzac  certainly 
has  created  some  very  extraordinary  characters, 
abnormal  and  sometimes  bizarre,  not  at  all  com- 
mon as  specimens  of  the  human  race.  But  still 
it  is  no  doubt  true  that  naturalism  has  abated 
if  not  abolished  the  hero,  diminished  the  plot- 
interest,  and  turned  the  attention  away  from  the 
strictly  romantic,  using  the  old  sense  of  the  word. 
Another  application  of  the  realistic  idea  is  es- 
pecially insisted  on  by  M.  Zola.  That  which  it  is 
above  all  necessary  to  lay  emphasis  upon  is  the 
impersonal  character  of  the  method.  Personal 
authority  is  at  a  minimum.  We  are  held  to  an 
exposition  of  how  things  come  to  pass,  not  why 
they  occur.  We,  the  writers,  are  observers,  and  we 
should  assume  a  strictly  scientific  attitude.  We 
need  not  trouble  others  with  our  own  notions  of 
what  ought  to  be.  Our  own  views,  our  approval  and 


68  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

disapproval,  our  wishes,  are  quite  irrelevant.  Our 
work  is  scientific  criticism,  declaratory  of  what  is. 
Our  authority  is  only  the  facts.  In  fine,  the  writer 
should  keep  himself  and  his  personality  wholly  in 
the  background.  Balzac,  indeed,  was  a  most  in- 
corrigible offender  against  this  canon  of  fiction- 
composition.  He  insists  on  philosophizing,  moral- 
izing, preaching  everywhere,  in  season  and  out  of 
season.  Nor  is  this  all.  He  colors  everything  with 
his  own  biases  and  prejudices.  He  cannot  be  re- 
spectful to  anybody  he  doesn't  like.  As  Henry 
James  says,  "  He  hated  the  bourgeoisie  with  an  un- 
mitigable  hatred  ;  and  more  than  most  of  his  class, 
he  hated  the  provincial."  Thus  to  him  the  world 
was  the  world  seen  through  his  colored  glasses — a 
fact  which  calls  to  mind  the  quotations  with  which 
this  chapter  was  opened.  That  was  realistic  which 
agreed  with  his  "  illusion  "  of  life.  But  whatever 
we  may  think  of  M.  Zola's  practice,  his  theory  re- 
quires the  elimination  of  personal  prejudice.  The 
naturalistic  romancer  must  be  an  impartial  ob- 
server and  "  experimenter,"  aiming  only  to  reveal 
the  truth  without  comment. 

Enough  has  been  now  said  to  enable  us  to  make 
a  generalization  which,  very  likely,  has  already  sug- 
gested itself  to  the  reader.  These  specific  applica- 
tions of  the  doctrine  of  naturalism  as  made  by  the 
chief  of  the  "  naturalists  "  all  conduce  to  the  re- 
duction of  art  to  science.  Their  principal  aim  is 
to  give  us  knowledge  instead  of  aesthetic  pleasure. 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  69 

They  eliminate  the  artistic  for  the  benefit  of  the 
scientific.  If  everything  is  to  be  subordinated  to 
actuality,  there  is  no  room  for  ideality,  except  in 
the  form  of  hypothesis.  M.  Zola  not  only  admits 
this,  but  he  urges  on  the  extreme  consummation. 
"  Enlarge  still  more  the  rdle  of  the  experimental 
sciences  ;  extend  it  even  to  the  study  of  the  pas- 
sions and  the  portrayal  of  manners.  You  have 
then  our  romances  which  seek  the  causes  and  ex- 
plain them,  which  collect  documents  on  human 
nature,  by  which  one  can  become  master  both  of 
man  and  his  environment  in  such  a  way  as  to  be 
able  to  develop  the  good  elements  and  extermi- 
nate the  bad.  We  do  a  work  identical  with  that 
of  the  scientists."  * 

No  one  can  possibly  appreciate  the  importance 
of  science  more  highly  than  I  do,  but  I  am 
wholly  unable  to  see  why  art  is  not  desirable  to 
cultivate  for  its  own  sake.  That  our  education 
should  be  primarily  and  fundamentally  scientific  I 
cannot  doubt.  And  if  men  are  willing  to  devote 
their  whole  lives  to  the  scientific  study  of  any  of 
the  phenomena  of  the  universe,  cosmological,  bio- 
logical, or  sociological,  confining  their  thought  to 
details  and  seeking  knowledge  by  close  analysis, 
they  have  a  noble  ambition  and  are  doing  an  hon- 
orable and  praiseworthy  work.  But  why  should 
we,  therefore,  say  that  the  imaginative  or  creative 

*  "  Lettres  a  la  Jeunesse." 


70  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

faculty,  which  is  especially  fitted  to  enable  us  to 
transcend  the  world  of  the  natural  and  real,  should 
be  limited  in  its  exercise  to  scientific,  closely  ver- 
ifiable hypothesis?  If  we  are  able  to  conceive  a 
centaur,  why  should  we  be  restrained  from  doing 
so  because  no  centaurs  have  yet  been  found  ?  If 
the  idealizing  capacity  brings  pleasure,  joy,  de- 
light, why  not  so  employ  it  ?  One  would  almost 
think  the  naturalistic  philosophers  were  becoming 
ascetics !  Must  artists  die  that  savants  may  live  ? 
Because  our  work  is  on  the  ground,  in  the  heat 
and  dust,  may  we  never  free  ourselves,  soar  aloft 
on  the  wings  of  the  morning,  and  knock  at  the 
portals  of  the  day  before  it  dawns  ? 

In  the  first  place,  it  should  be  seen  that  scien- 
tific fiction  is,  strictly  speaking,  a  contradiction  in 
terms.  So  far  forth  as  fiction  is  science  it  ceases 
to  be  fiction  ;  so  far  forth  as  science  is  fictitious 
it  ceases  to  be  science.  If  science  be  all  in  all, 
would  it  not  be  better  to  leave  out  the  fictitious 
element  altogether  from  literature  and  devote  our- 
selves to  exact  descriptions  of  actual  persons, 
types,  and  conditions  ?  We  could  greatly  improve 
history  and  biography  by  the  more  faithful  em- 
ployment of  the  naturalistic  method.  Or,  if  this 
were  dangerous  with  respect  to  biographical  ac- 
counts, we  might  still  study  real  individuals,  using 
fictitious  names,  or  initials  like  X  and  Y,  the 
algebraic  symbols.  Again,  are  not  tables  of  actual 
observations,  like  those  of  Herbert  Spencer's 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  ji 

"  Descriptive  Sociology,"  much  better  for  scien- 
tific purposes  ?  And  if  they  were  extended  to 
English  or  French  society  of  the  appropriate 
periods,  would  they  not  be  far  preferable  to 
Disraeli  and  George  Eliot  or  to  the  "  Comedie 
Humaine"?  Would  not  M.  Zola  have  realized 
the  ends  he  professes  to  seek  more  completely  if 
he  had  given  us  his  notes  upon  which  he  built 
up  "  Pot-Bouille  "  and  "  La  Terre  "  rather  than 
the  books  themselves  ?  We  have  shown  how  his 
"  experiment "  is  nothing  but  hypothesis.  To  be 
truly  scientific,  should  not  this  all  be  left  out  and 
the  exact  results  of  observation  be  given  clearly 
and  concisely  ?  What  need  of  Buteaus,  of  Nanas, 
of  Paulines,  of  Etiennes,  to  be  manufactured 
with  so  much  trouble,  when  at  the  end  they  are 
only  supposititious  and  hypothetical  characters? 
Better  turn  to  biography  and  history  and  plain 
realistic  portraits  of  lunatics,  monsters,  loafers, 
drunkards,  harlots,  as  they  abound  in  actual  life, 
have  them  labelled  and  identified,  and  put  away 
in  some  collection,  or  published  with  the  transac- 
tions of  some  sociological  society.  The  members 
of  the  Parisian  Association  for  Mutual  Autopsy 
might  make  themselves  useful  even  before  their 
decease  by  practising  the  naturalistic  method  of 
analysis  upon  each  other's  characters ! 

In  Chapter  III.  I  endeavored  to  show  that  there 
is  a  scientific  value  to  the  novel  and  in  what  it 
consists.  But  it  will  be  seen  that  this  value  is  a 


72  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

substitutive  one.  We  cannot  do  better,  from  force 
of  circumstances.  Because  we  have  no  societies 
for  Mutual  Ante-mortem  Dissection,  and  because 
there  are  few  Rousseaus  who  are  willing  to  be  frank 
and  explicit  in  their  confessions,  we  cannot  exhibit 
character  in  its  various  forms,  except  under  the 
guise  of  fiction.  Since  there  are  kings,  popes,  and 
popular  sentiments,  we  cannot  always  portray  so- 
cial, political,  and  religious  conditions  as  facts  of 
science.  Moreover,  the  question  of  interest  comes 
in.  Dry  statistics  will  not  be  read.  An  artistic 
clothing  is  an  immense  help  in  imparting  knowl- 
edge. The  romance,  therefore,  is  indeed  a  vehicle 
for  teaching  science ;  but  never  can  it  become  the 
chief  or  the  best  means  for  inculcating  scientific 
knowledge.  To  attempt  to  make  it  such  would 
result  in  destroying  its  aesthetic  value,  which  would 
in  turn  take  away  its  value  for  scientific  purposes. 
If  we  countenance  fiction  at  all,  we  do  so  pri- 
marily because  of  its  aesthetic  value.  It  is  a  work 
of  art  and  it  must  respect  the  canons  of  art. 
Otherwise  it  becomes  a  confused  and  useless  mix- 
ture, neither  one  thing  nor  the  other.  It  is  crude 
or  imperfect  science  and  it  is  poor  art.  It  must 
appeal  to  the  aesthetic  sense,  never  losing  sight  of 
that  primal  condition  of  artistic  work,  the  elimi- 
nation of  the  disagreeable.  It  must  cater  to  our 
appreciation  of  beauty,  harmony,  variety  in  unity, 
symmetry,  proportion,  grace,  delicacy,  congruity. 
Since  it  must  needs  be  a  product  of  human  con- 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  73 

structiveness,  the  first  aim  should  be  to  make  it, 
as  such,  a  good  piece  of  work,  not  a  bad  one. 

There  is  another  important  consideration  which 
extremists  in  naturalism  are  apt  to  overlook.  If 
we  are  to  follow  nature,  study  the  workings  of  the 
human  mind  and  its  results  in  all  their  develop- 
ments, if  we  are  to  pass  by  none  of  the  passions, 
impulses,  desires,  dispositions  which  issue  in 
human  action  in  such  great  variety,  why  should 
we  omit  the  furor  scribendi  and  its  products  in 
creative  art  ?  If  a  person  has  a  mania  for  creating 
Mephistos  and  Calibans,  for  describing  a  Dan- 
tean  Inferno  or  Paradiso  in  prose  fiction,  for  giv- 
ing life  in  the  world  of  literature  to  a  Franken- 
stein or  a  Seraphita — beings  that  never  were  and, 
so  far  as  we  are  able  to  see,  never  can  be — why 
are  not  such  productions  of  scientific  interest  as 
exhibiting  the  power  of  mental  forces?  If  no 
better,  the  work  itself  may  be  a  most  valuable  in- 
dication of  pathological  conditions.  It  enables  us 
to  study  the  human  mind  and  character  just  as 
well,  oftentimes  more  satisfactorily,  than  if  we 
direct  our  observation  to  the  relations  of  conduct 
between  man  and  man.  And  as  for  the  writer, 
how  can  any  one  be  more  realistic  than  when  he  is 
giving  free  expression  to  the  creative  activities  of 
his  own  mind,  showing  forth  the  power  and  indeed 
the  life  of  his  very  soul  in  the  exuberant  play  of 
fancy  and  imagination  which  artistic  liberty  always 
allows  and  stimulates?  M.  Zola  and  his  confreres 


74  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

do  not  seem  to  understand  that  whatever  we  may 
say  of  the  propriety  of  making  the  romance  "  im- 
personal "  as  to  the  author,  it  never  can  be  done. 
Why  ?  Because  the  romance  is  a  work  of  art.  It 
is  a  constructive  product  of  a  human  mind,  a  per- 
sonality which  comes  before  the  reader  and  ap- 
peals to  him  as  such.  This  is  always  an  element 
of  the  interest,  as  we  noted  in  Chapter  I.,  and 
again  at  the  close  of  Chapter  V.  The  story  or 
romance  is  a  means  of  communication  between 
human  beings.  It  is  something  which  the  author 
imparts  to  his  readers  of  his  own  perception, 
thought,  and  feeling.  We  cannot  get  rid  of  this 
personal  element  if  we  try.  There  remains  always 
at  least  the  interest  in  the  skill,  the  ingenuity,  the 
cleverness  of  the  contriver,  the  artificer,  the  one 
who  conquers  difficulties,  of  which  I  have  several 
times  spoken.  M.  Zola  may  pride  himself  upon 
his  impersonality  in  the  "  Rougon-Macquart " 
novels,  but  he  deceives  himself  mightily  if  he 
thinks  the  world  will  not,  in  addition  to  other  in- 
terests, look  at  them,  study  them,  criticise  them, 
as  pieces  of  work  turned  out  by  the  workman 
Emile  Zola,  and  as  revelations  of  his  own  mind 
and  character.  We  do  not  like  to  have  the  person- 
ality of  the  author  thrust  upon  us,  but  neverthe- 
less we  always  take  note  of  it.  In  the  words  of 
M.  David-Sauvageot :  *  "  We  love  to  divine,  behind 

*  "  Le  Realisme  et  le  Naturalisme,"  etc. 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM. 


75 


the  veil  of  dramatic  fiction,  a  distinct  personality 
which  makes  effort  neither  to  disclose  nor  conceal 
itself."  There  is  a  great  deal  of  force,  too,  in  the 
following  remarks  of  Veron,*  though  they  must 
not  be  taken  too  universally  and  absolutely:  "The 
degree  of  reality  which  a  work  of  art  exhibits  is 
of  aesthetic  importance  only  because  it  enables  us 
to  measure  the  power  of  penetration  necessary  to 
seize  it,  and  the  force  of  imagination  which  has 
permitted  its  reproduction  with  that  distinctness 
which  we  admire."  Again  :  "  When  we  follow  the 
development  of  the  characters  of  Tartuffe,  of 
Avare,  of  Cousine  Bette,  of  Marneffe,  that  which 
interests  us,  aesthetically  speaking,  ...  is  the 
profundity  of  observation,  thanks  to  which  Mo- 
liere  and  Balzac  have  been  able  to  penetrate  to  the 
heart  of  their  characters ;  and,  above  all,  the  power 
of  depiction  by  which  they  are  able  to  make  them 
come  forth  into  the  light  of  the  stage  or  the  ro- 
mance, and  make  of  them  living  beings.  That 
which  we  admire  in  the  characters  is  not  them- 
selves, it  is  the  genius  which  has  created  them." 

Although  there  are  some  minor  points  which 
might  be  made  in  addition,  we  are  now  in  a  posi- 
tion to  see  clearly,  I  think,  that  if  we  attempt  to 
make  "  realism  "  or  "  naturalism  "  a  shibboleth  of 
fiction-composition,  we  shall  be  in  danger  of  sui- 
cidally  perverting  a  true  and  useful  method  when 

*  "  L'Esthetique,"  Part  I.,  ch.  vi. 


76  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

properly  applied,  so  far  as  to  greatly  and  unwar- 
rantably limit  the  sphere  of  romantic  and  creative 
literature,  to  restrict  it  unduly  within  that  sphere, 
and  even  to  threaten  its  entire  extinction.  This 
perversion  has  gone  far  already ;  and  it  is  well  to 
call  a  halt  in  the  march  of  naturalistic  ideas  in  the 
world  of  art,  not  for  the  purpose  of  going  back  to 
the  old  romanticism,  but  with  the  view  of  deter- 
mining our  position,  seeing  the  end  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  ascertaining  whither  our  progress  tends. 
After  this  long  discussion,  then,  let  us  get  before 
our  minds  succinctly,  by  way  of  summary,  the  uses 
and  limitations  of  the  naturalistic  method.  If  it 
be  regarded  as  a  mode  of  discipline  and  prepara- 
tion, it  is  absolutely  indispensable.  No  one  can 
be  a  truly  great  artist  in  anything  who  is  not  able 
to  reproduce  nature  as  she  is.  For — if  the  reader 
will  pardon  reiteration — our  material  for  construc- 
tion is  nothing  else  but  what  our  experiences  of 
nature  give  us.  If  we  desire  to  create  we  can  only 
rearrange  and  rehabilitate.  In  order  to  execute, 
to  do  anything,  we  must  know.  Let  us  remember 
what  Ruskin  says  in  "  Modern  Painters  "  :  *  "All 
qualities  of  execution,  properly  so  called,  are  in- 
fluenced by,  and  in  a  great  degree  dependent  on, 
a  far  higher  power  than  that  of  mere  execution — 
knowledge  of  truth.  For  exactly  in  proportion  as 
an  artist  is  certain  of  his  end,  will  he  be  swift  and 

*Part  I.,  sec.  ii.,  ch.  ii. 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM. 


77 


simple  in  his  means  ;  and  as  he  is  accurate  and 
deep  in  his  knowledge  will  he  be  refined  and  pre- 
cise in  his  touch.  The  first  merit  of  manipulation, 
then,  is  that  delicate  and  ceaseless  expression 
of  refined  truth  which  is  carried  out  to  the  last 
touch,  and  shadow  of  a  touch,  and  which  makes 
every  hair's  breadth  of  importance,  and  every  gra- 
dation full  of  meaning."  Therefore,  it  is  of  the 
utmost  importance  for  the  sake  of  expression 
both  that  the  author  have  something  to  express 
and  know  that  something.  Storing  his  mind  with 
material,  if  he  comprehends  through  and  through 
that  which  he  has  observed,  he  so  much  the  more 
increases  his  power  to  utilize  successfully  what- 
ever he  has  gathered. 

Furthermore,  as  we  also  learned,  completeness 
and  thoroughness  of  observation  is  a  powerful  aid 
to  the  development  of  the  creative  powers.  The 
imagination  is  thereby  stimulated,  strengthened, 
and  trained.  By  following  nature,  we  at  last  be- 
come nature's  master.  Again,  to  apply  the  words 
of  Ruskin — these  for  the  admonition  of  young  art- 
ists :  "  They  should  keep  to  quiet  colors,  grays 
and  browns  ;  and  .  .  .  should  go  to  nature  in 
all  singleness  of  heart,  and  walk  with  her  labori- 
ously and  trustingly,  having  no  other  thoughts 
but  how  to  penetrate  her  meaning,  and  remem- 
ber her  instruction,  rejecting  nothing,  .  .  . 
scorning  nothing.  .  .  .  Then,  when  their  mem- 
ories are  stored  and  their  imaginations  fed, 


78  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

and  their  hands  firm,  let  them  take  up  the  scar- 
let and  the  gold,  give  the  reins  to  their  fancy, 
and  show  us  what  their  heads  are  make  of. 
We  will  follow  them  wherever  they  choose  to 
lead  ;  we  will  check  at  nothing  ;  they  are  then  our 
masters,  and  are  fit  to  be  so." 

These  last  precepts  show  forth  the  heritage  of 
the  true  artist.  They  admonish  us  not  to  sacrifice 
our  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage.  They  tell  us 
that  the  "  experimental  method  "  is  a  means,  not 
an  end.  We  must  not  make  the  mistake  of  sup- 
posing that  the  study  of  nature  consists  only  in 
an  enumeration  of  nature's  phenomena.  Nor  can 
we  impose  upon  the  world  by  giving  it  our 
sketches  and  studies  as  the  finale  of  art.  The 
use  of  "  observation  and  experiment  "  is  to  enable 
us  the  better  to  employ  our  faculties.  In  that 
employment  we  may  introduce  new  beings  into 
nature,  we  may  exaggerate  nature,  we  may  even 
transcend  nature,  as  Michael  Angelo,  Shakespeare, 
and  Balzac  did.  By  following  her  we  have  simply 
trained  our  selective  and  constructive  powers  to 
enter  into  the  vast  unknown,  and  call  forth  its 
spirits  by  our  words  of  command. 

Hence  "  naturalism  "  never  must  be  allowed  to 
limit  our  creative  activity,  but  only  minister  unto 
it,  chastening  it  to  enable  us  to  give  substance 
rather  than  shadow.  Tt  must  not  chain  genius 
down.  It  must  not  restrict  its  selection  of  sub- 
jects, nor  must  it  absolutely  control  its  treatment 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM. 


79 


of  them.  It  may  lay  the  foundation,  furnish  the 
brick  and  stone  and  the  mortar,  but  not  the  archi- 
tecture of  the  building.  The  ideal  must  super- 
vene and  supply  the  guiding  hand,  the  scheme,  the 
form.  In  Bulwer's  words,*  "  Art,  from  all  forms  of 
the  positive  is  ever  seeking  to  extract  the  ideal." 
"  The  base  of  art  is  in  the  study' of  nature ;  not  to 
imitate,  but  first  to  select  and  then  to  combine 
from  nature  those  materials  into  which  the  artist 
can  breathe  his  own  vivifying  idea."  Says  Goethe 
in  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  of  the  true  artists :  "  Paus- 
ing at  some  standpoint  of  ideal  perception,  they  let 
the  variety  of  life  pass  under  their  eyes,  and  trans- 
late its  meanings  into  the  new  language  of  their 
genius."  Let  us  listen  also  to  Mr.  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  :  f  "  The  whole  secret  is,  that  no  art 
does  compete  with  life."  "  Let  the  writer  choose 
a  motive,  whether  of  character  or -passion,  .  .  . 
and  allow  neither  himself  nor  any  character  in  the 
course  of  the  dialogue  to  utter  one  sentence  that 
is  not  part  and  parcel  of  the  business  of  the  story, 
or  the  discussion  of  the  problem  involved."  "  And 
as  the  root  of  the  whole  matter,  let  him  bear  in 
mind  that  his  novel  is  not  a  transcript  of  life  to 
be  judged  by  its  exactitude,  but  a  simplification  of 
some  side  or  point  of  life,  to  stand  or  fall  by  its 
significant  simplicity." 

M.  David-Sauvageot,  in  the  work  before  quoted 

*  ' '  Caxtoniana. "  f  Longman's  Magazine. 


80  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

from,*  has,  to  my  mind,  indicated  the  important 
service  performed  by  contemporary  realism.  He 
esteems  its  great  value  to  lie  in  the  reaction  which 
it  has  inaugurated  against  the  arbitrary  conven- 
tions of  degenerate  classic  and  of  romantic  art.  In 
this  he  is,  no  doubt,  quite  right.  It  has  the  value 
of  a  protestation,  a  reformation.  The  conventions 
against  which  it  is  a  reaction  were,  as  he  says,  fash- 
ions controlled  by  the  times  and  surviving  simply 
because  they  were  fashions,  after  their  producing 
causes  had  ceased  to  act.  The  world,  to  the  reader 
of  former  days,  was  only  the  "  milieu  "  of  princes 
and  grand  seigneurs,  of  warriors,  of  demi-gods,  of 
palaces  and  castles,  of  personal  combats,  of  Ho- 
meric and  feudalistic  deeds.  These  conventions 
were  imposed  by  the  exigencies  of  public  opinion, 
by  neglect  of  the  constant  evolution  going  on  in 
nature,  thereby  giving  too  great  a  rigidity  to  art ; 
by  a  disposition  to  impose  the  processes  of  one 
particular  art  upon  all,  and  to  separate  utterly 
art  from  nature,  according  to  Goethe's  principle  as 
De  Quincey  declares  it :  "  Art  is  art,  because  it  is 
not  nature."  Against  these  hard-and-fast  princi- 
ples of  artistic  production  a  powerful  protest  was 
necessary.  This  has  certainly  been  delivered  by 
the  naturalistic  writers,  and  very  efficaciously.  It 
is  in  truth  a  manifestation  of  the  aesthetic  impulse 
demanding  freedom  for  itself ;  and  in  obtaining 

*  "  Le  Realisme  et  le  Naturalisme,"  etc. 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  8 1 

this  it  made  possible  and  actual  a  better  art ;  for 
"  It  is  only  in  the  conditions  of  an  absolute  free- 
dom that  any  real  art  can  be  done."*  Let  the  lib- 
erators then  be  careful  lest  they  impose  upon  us  a 
new  tyranny,  whose  trammels  will  make  necessary 
a  counter-movement  in  the  interest  of  artistic  lib- 
erty and  progress. 

Indeed,  M.  David-Sauvageot  thinks  that  realism 
has  only  prepared  the  way  for  a  new  and  domi- 
nating idealism.  He  quotes  Fustel  de  Coulanges 
to  the  effect  that  "  there  is  need  of  volumes  of 
analysis  to  give,  a  line  of  synthesis."  As,  from 
1600  to  1636,  French  literature  abounded  in  a  fer- 
tile confusion  of  essays  and  researches,  out  of 
whose  condensation  came  the  Cid,  so  may  we  an- 
ticipate that  the  realism  of  Flaubert  and  of  M. 
Zola  will  ultimate  in  "  an  idealism  less  profound 
perhaps,  but  more  free  and  more  comprehensive 
than  that  of  a  Moliere  and  a  Racine." 

Upon  the  whole,  then,  we  are  forced  to  the  con- 
clusion that  realism  could  not,  if  it  would,  dis- 
pense with  creativeness,  save  by  abolishing  art  in 
reducing  it  to  science  ;  but  that,  if  rightly  under- 
stood, it  is  of  great  value  in  making  strong,  clear, 
and  life-like  the  products  of  creation.  Further- 
more, while  it  is  at  the  foundation  of  all  reproduc- 
tive art,  its  methods  will  not  even  there  supersede 
the  necessity  of  employing  a  selective  process  which 

*  Ouida  :  North  American  Review. 
6 


82  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

is  determined  by  ideals.  In  all  the  recent  discus- 
sions the  true  relations  of  realism  and  idealism  to 
each  other  have  not  been  better  expressed  than 
they  were  by  Frances  Power  Cobbe  *  twenty-five 
years  ago,  in  estimating  the  elements  of  value  in 
creative  and  reproductive  art  respectively.  She 
says :  "  The  value  of  creative  art  is  determined  by 
two  conditions:  first,  by  the  extent  and  fulness 
with  which  the  artist  has  received  the  divine  reve- 
lation of  beauty  in  nature  ;  secondly,  by  the  faith- 
fulness with  which  he  has  recorded  what  he  has 
received.  The  value  of  reproductive  art  is  deter- 
mined by  the  intrinsic  excellence  of  the  work  he 
chooses  to  reproduce ;  secondly,  by  the  extent  to 
which  he  has  reproduced  in  fresh  form  and  not 
merely  copied  the  work  in  question;  thirdly,  by 
the  perfection  of  his  own  achievement  as  itself  a 
work  of  art,  judged  independently  from  the  origi- 
nal." 

Since  we  discover,  therefore,  that  realism  only 
endows  us  with  a  method  to  be  used  under  the 
guidance  of  ideals  formed  by  the  synthetic  and 
selective  activities  of  the  mind,  we  have  still  to 
search  for  a  principle  of  selection.  We  are  thus 
thrown  back  upon  the  question  of  interest  and  the 
interaction  of  scientific,  moral,  and  aesthetic  mo- 
tives. We  can  then  understand  the  meaning  of 
the  two  passages  quoted  at  the  very  beginning  of 

*"  The  Hierarchy  of  Art,"  1865. 


REALISM  AND  IDEALISM.  §3 

this  chapter,  which  are  not  comprehensible  on  the 
theory  that  the  ends  of  art  are  satisfied  by  observ- 
ing and  presenting  everything  and  anything  that 
appears  in  nature.  In  that  case  whatever  is  por- 
trayed should  appear  equally  realistic  to  every- 
body, if  it  be  a  faithful  copy.  But  the  reader  as 
well  as  the  writer  selects,  out  of  natural  phenom- 
ena, objects  which  assimilate  with  his  own  charac- 
ter and  life.  He  thus  to  a  degree  makes  his  own 
world,  and  that  artist  appears  realistic  to  him  who 
exhibits  his  own  "illusion."  Hence  the  explana- 
tion of  the  strange  contrarieties  in  criticisms  of 
artistic  work,  one  praising  and  another  condemn- 
ing; one  believing  the  production  fanciful,  another 
esteeming  it  remarkably  true  to  life.  It  is  evi- 
dent, then,  that  we  must  consider  further,  and  in 
greater  detail,  the  various  objects  of  interest  and 
causes  of  interest  which  give  popularity  and  suc- 
cess to  the  story  that  brings  them  before  the 
mind.  This  we  shall  proceed  to  do  in  the  suc- 
ceeding chapters. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE   EXHIBITION   OF  POWER. 

A  MANIFESTATION  of  great  power  in  nature 
always  arrests  attention,  whether  it  be  simple 
force  or  that  to  which  a  moral  quality,  beneficent 
or  maleficent,  attaches.  This  is  true  not  only  in 
that  sense  of  the  word  which  implies  passive 
superiority,  but  also  in  the  signification  of  energy 
and  activity.  Again,  the  effect  is  produced  both 
by  brute,  massive  strength  and  by  cunning,  subtle 
skill.  Whatever  shows  great  material,  vital,  pas- 
sional, or  intellectual  force  commands  attention. 

Experience  is  made  up  of  a  succession  of  actions 
and  reactions.  The  thousand-and-one  movements 
in  the  world  about  us,  of  air,  of  light,  of  gravity, 
of  animals,  of  human  beings  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  their  avocations,  however,  do  not  and  cannot 
all  impress  themselves  upon  us.  The  most  of 
them  are  not  noticed  at  all.  There  must  be  some- 
thing extraordinary,  outside  of  the  common  flow 
of  phenomena,  to  occupy  our  thought  or  divert  it. 
Novelty  itself  will  seize  the  attention,  but  the 
continuance  of  the  impression  is  conditioned  by 
the  quantity  of  the  sensation,  which  itself  depends 


EXHIBITION  OF  POWER.  85 

upon  the  stimulus  already  acting,  or  other  coinci- 
dent attractions. 

Accounts  of  great  convulsions  of  nature  will, 
therefore,  interest  a  reader  if  they  are  so  given 
as  to  awaken  to  some  degree  the  same  emotions 
that  the  spectator  would  have  were  he  present  at 
the  actual  occurrence.  These  feelings  must  be 
very  much  weaker,  and  in  consequence  of  that 
weakness  other  emotions  come  into  play  which 
would  not  have  appeared  in  the  original  expe- 
rience. No  doubt  a  simple  description  of  the 
destruction  of  Pompeii,  if  well  done,  would  hold 
the  reader,  even  if  the  relations  that  ruin  bore 
to  individual  characters  did  not  appear.  Histor- 
ical accounts  of  this  sort  are  always  interesting. 
When,  therefore,  an  interest  in  human  beings,  as 
affected  by  the  natural  disturbance,  is  superadded, 
as  in  Bulwer's  "  Last  Days,"  a  powerful  impres- 
sion is  produced.  It  may  be  well  to  analyze  a 
little  the  interest  thus  experienced  with  the  view 
of  ascertaining  the  generic  effects  of  the  exhibi- 
tion of  power  in  nature. 

In  Bulwer's  novel,  just  mentioned,  the  over- 
whelming of  the  city  is  the  culmination,  there 
being  after  it  only  a  postscript  chapter,  "  wherein 
all  things  cease " — especially  the  story.  The 
ancient  city  is  reconstructed  and  described,  to- 
gether with  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  in- 
habitants ;  a  little  world  of  characters  is  created 
whose  fortunes  are  to  be  followed,  and  in  whom 


86  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

an  interest  is  aroused  quite  independently  of  the 
denouement.  They  might  have  been  disposed  of 
without  ruining  the  whole  place,  and  still  we 
should  have  been  tolerably  well  satisfied.  When, 
however,  the  catastrophe  arrives,  how  are  we  af- 
fected ?  In  such  manner  as  if  we  were  there,  had 
partly  seen  what  happened  and  some  one  had 
told  us  the  rest.  The  picture  of  the  city  and  the 
volcano  is  in  our  minds  and  thoughts  of  the 
people  whom  we  knew. 

In  the  first  place,  fear  controls  the  situation. 
Our  senses  are  affected  by  the  tremendous  phe- 
nomena, the  lurid  light,  the  frightful  noise,  the 
choking  odors,  the  incessant  activity,  the  violent 
disintegration  and  destruction  going  on.  These 
things  paralyze  us  for  the  moment,  at  least,  and 
we  are  thrown  into  a  receptive  state  in  which 
our  own  activities  are  abated.  If,  now,  we  were 
actually  on  the  spot  this  inaction  would  soon  be 
succeeded  by  thoughts  of  escape,  plans  and  move- 
ments to  that  end.  But  when  once  in  a  position 
of  safety,  we  gaze  upon  the  eruption  and  witness 
its  effects,  the  emotions  of  fear  subside  and  are 
superseded  by  others  of  a  different  character.  In 
place  of  a  depression  of  vitality  there  comes  an 
exaltation  of  it.  We  describe  our  feelings  by 
the  terms  Sense  of  Grandeur,  of  Sublimity.  We 
ally  ourselves  with  a  producing  cause  of  what  we 
see,  think  of  ourselves  as  putting  forth  strength 
and  also  performing  great  results.  We  enter 


EXHIBITION  OF  POWER.  g/ 

sympathetically  into  the  succession  of  phenom- 
ena. We  are  lifted  up  into  the  region  of  a  greater 
power  and  are  filled  with  the  buoyancy  of  an  ex- 
alted life.  Impressed  at  first  by  fear,  our  minds 
are  afterward  pervaded  by  an  accretion  of  potent 
vitality  which  dominates,  reduces,  and  casts  out 
fear.  The  emotions  thus  arising  are  truly  aesthetic. 
We  do  not  suffer  pain  either  physically  or  sympa- 
thetically. Pain  is  eliminated,  and  what  the  mind 
dwells  upon  are  movements  which  develop  feel- 
ings the  reverse  of  disagreeable.  If  associations 
do  bring  up  painful  thoughts  they  are  suspended 
by  just  the  same  process  as  before,  and  their 
irruption  only  serves  to  enhance  the  resultant 
pleasure. 

A  similar  effect  is  produced  by  the  more  ordi- 
nary operation  of  natural  forces.  The  lightning, 
the  wind,  the  waves  are  often  sublime.  In  many 
of  these  cases  the  fresh  tonic  air,  invigorating  and 
stimulating,  directly  inspires  the  feeling  of  strength. 
The  sunlight,  too,  is  in  the  most  marked  degree 
the  cause  of  sensations  of  increased  vitality.  All 
the  various  movements  of  the  air,  the  earth,  the 
waters,  awaken  emotions  of  power  in  the  beholder. 
In  realistic  description  this  pleasure  is  reproduced 
in  the  reader.  It  is  precisely  because  of  such  an 
emotional  stimulus  that  we  enjoy  passages  like 
the  following  in  the  first  chapter  of  Mr.  William 
Black's  "  Princess  of  Thule"  :  "  From  out  of  the  low- 
ering southwest  fierce  gusts  of  wind  were  driving 


gg  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

up  volumes  and  flying  rags  of  clouds,  and  sweep- 
ing onward,  at  the  same  time,  the  gathering  waves 
that  fell  hissing  and  thundering  on  the  shore." 
Or  those  of  which  here  is  a  sample  from  "  Wanda," 
by  Ouida:  "There  is  such  abundance  of  rushing 
water,  of  deep  grass,  of  endless  shade,  of  forest 
trees,  of  heather  and  pine,  of  torrent  and  tarn ; 
.  .  .  and  the  earth  seems  so  green  and  fresh, 
and  silent  and  strong''  * 

In  the  contemplation  of  mountains  we  have 
power  impressed  upon  us  also.  Ruskin  remarks, 
in  "  Modern  Painters  " :  f  "  Mountains  are  to  the 
rest  of  the  body  of  the  earth  what  violent  muscu- 
lar action  is  to  the  body  of  man.  The  muscles 
and  tendons  of  its  anatomy  are,  in  the  mountain, 
brought  out  with  fierce  and  convulsive  energy, 
full  of  expression,  passion,  and  strength.  .  .  . 
The  fiery  peaks,  which,  with  heaving  bosoms  and 
exulting  limbs,  with  the  clouds  drifting  like  hair 
from  their  bright  foreheads,  lift  up  their  Titan 
hands  to  heaven,  saying,  '  I  live  for  ever.'  '  This 
Is  no  meaningless  rhetoric.  It  expresses  most 
profound  truth,  and  is  an  explanation  of  a  primary 
influence  nature  has  over  us.  We  seek  life — con- 
servation, development  of  vital  power — and  wher- 
ever there  is  manifested  power  in  nature  we  sym- 
pathize with  it,  we  seek  to  drink  of  it,  assimilate 
it,  and  feel  it  coursing  in  our  veins.  We  even 

*  Italics  mine.  }  Part  II.,  sec.  iv.,  ch.  I. 


EXHIBITION  OF  POWER. 


89 


personify,  and  it  seems  to  bring  us  near  to  a  source 
of  all  power,  from  which  we  can  renew  our  flag- 
ging energies.  "  The  voice  of  thy  thunder  was  in 
the  heaven  ;  the  lightning  lightened  the  world ; 
the  earth  trembled  and  shook.  Thy  way  is  in  the 
sea  and  thy  path  in  the  great  waters."  "  I  will 
lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from  whence  cometh 
my  help" 

But  it  is  quite  certain,  as  Mr.  Walter  Besant 
says,*  that  "  the  very  first  rule  in  fiction  is  that 
the  human  interest  must  absolutely  absorb  every- 
thing else ; "  and  if  power  manifested  in  nature 
inanimate  arouses  an  aesthetic  emotion  through 
sympathy,  how  inevitable  that  it  should  do  so 
when  displayed  by  human  beings,  with  whom  a 
personal  sympathy  is  possible  !  The  ideal  of  the 
perfection  of  one's  own  self,  physically  and  men- 
tally, which  every  one  has,  seems  then  to  be  real- 
ized, and  our  minds  are  filled  with  admiring  joy 
as  we  behold.  Who,  in  reading  Homer's  "  Hymn 
to  Apollo,"  for  example,  is  not  permeated  with  a 
consciousness  of '  exhaustless  strength  lifting  him 
up  and  making  him  feel  as  if  he  were  breathing  in 
the  breath  of  eternal  life  ?  Thus  the  hero  comes 
to  be  an  object  of  primary  interest  in  human  so- 
ciety, and  consequently  in  fictitious  representa- 
tions of  it. 

Power  can  be  exhibited  in  many  ways,  and  this 

*  "  Art  of  Fiction." 


90  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

very  sympathy,  which  is  necessary  to  our  interest 
in  its  manifestations,  has  an  important  moderating 
and  regulating  effect  upon  our  appreciation.  Peo- 
ple in  every  age  mark  out  channels  in  which  effort 
can  be  put  forth,  and  beyond  which  it  is  useless. 
They  form  their  ends  according  to  existing  condi- 
tions. A  man  is  great  who  is  strong  in  those  par- 
ticulars in  which  strength  is  needed.  An  Achilles 
in  a  modern  community  would  be  rated  about  on 
a  par  with  a  prize-fighter.  Ulysses  also  would 
serve  very  well  in  that  capacity.  On  the  other 
hand,  Lord  Beaconsfield  or  Metternich  would  not 
have  been  eminent  in  Athenian  society.  The  en- 
vironment, the  state  of  civilization,  the  limitations 
of  activity  by  circumstances,  determine  the  form 
in  which  greatness  must  appear,  if  at  all. 

The  romancer,  however,  can  construct  a  tale 
which  exemplifies  the  heroism  of  an  age  long 
past ;  and  if  he  be  skilful  in  portraying  the  appro- 
priate "  milieu"  his  story  will  be  read.  It  will  be 
praised  because  it  is  well  done,  and  also  because 
of  the  general  fact  that  great  deeds  and  qualities 
are  intrinsically  interesting ;  but  his  circle  of  read- 
ers will  be  a  somewhat  limited  one,  and  he  will 
find  critics  complaining  that  his  romance  is  dull 
and  artificial.  Then  it  is  rarely  the  case  that  an 
author,  imbued  with  the  ideas  and  incidents  of 
one  generation,  can  reproduce  satisfactorily  to 
himself  or  anybody  else  the  manners  and  deeds  of 
a  by-gone  time.  Nor  will  he  be  moved  to  try, 


EXHIBITION  OF  POWER.  gi 

save  in  exceptional  instances.  Hence,  the  fashion 
of  the  fictitious  literature  of  any  period  is  set  by 
the  conditions  of  thought  and  life  in  that  period, 
and  the  best  work  is  done  according  to  that 
fashion. 

Human  power  has  been  shown  in  history  very 
largely  in  conflict  between  men.  Although  its 
methods  have  totally  changed,  war  has  not  ceased 
to  absorb  people's  thoughts  and  excite  their  feel- 
ings. In  the  shock  of  battle  power  is  shown  in 
two  principal  ways — the  one  in  triumph  and  vic- 
tory, the  other  in  resistance  and  endurance.  Both 
of  these  command  admiration.  The  crushing  of 
an  adversary  elicits  our  plaudits  for  the  con- 
queror, while  we  cannot  withhold  our  favor  from 
him  who  has  made  an  obstinate  fight,  but  at  last 
is  forced  to  succumb.  Yet  our  sympathies  will 
always  be  with  one  of  the  combatants  rather  than 
with  the  other,  and  the  elation  at  the  success  of 
the  one  we  support  causes  us  to  forget  or  to  dwell 
little  upon  the  valor  of  the  defeated.  There  are 
two  series  of  impressions  made  upon  him  who  is 
the  witness  of  actual  warfare.  He  is  filled  with 
satisfaction  at  the  success  of  his  cause,  or  his  own 
deeds  in  the  face  of  great  dangers  and  trials,  and 
he  is  horrified  and  sickened  at  the  carnage,  the 
suffering,  the  devastation.  Which  of  these  will 
be  in  the  ascendant  will  depend  upon  his  own 
make-up.  In  order  to  be  a  good  soldier,  however, 
there  must  be  a  callousness  to  suffering,  a  weak- 


92 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


ness  of  sympathy,  which  makes  him  glory  in  vic- 
tory and  mind  little  about  the  distressful  side  of 
warfare.  In  addition,  there  is  very  often,  as  re- 
marked in  our  first  chapter,  a  positive  thirst  for 
blood,  which  makes  men  delight  in  the  sufferings 
of  others,  and  even  to  take  pleasure  in  inflicting 
pain.  This  ferocity  of  the  wild  beast  has  by  no 
means  been  extinguished  in  human  nature. 

Now,  the  novelist  in  describing  a  battle  may 
systematically  lead  the  reader's  mind  along  such  a 
course  as  to  fasten  the  attention  upon  the  move- 
ments of  success  and  failure,  of  victory  and  defeat, 
upon  the  heroic  deeds  ultimating  in  triumph,  ex- 
citing all  the  enthusiasm  called  forth  by  the  dis- 
play of  power  in  action,  without  allowing  any 
reflection  upon  the  butchery,  the  woe,  the  horror 
of  the  conflict.  Walter  Scott's  tournaments,  as  in 
"  Ivanhoe,"  furnish  good  samples  of  this  for  single 
combats,  and  Mr.  Rider  Haggard,  in  his  South 
African  adventures,  for  battles  between  armies. 
Such  descriptions  would  not  be  called  "  realistic." 
But  they  comply  with  one  of  the  chief  canons  of 
aesthetic  pleasure,  namely,  that  the  disagreeable 
be  eliminated.  The  majority  of  readers  do  not 
want  to  have  the  carnage  vividly  represented. 
They  want  the  effects  of  rapid,  brilliant,  startling 
movement,  the  imposing  charge,  the  overthrow  of 
squadrons,  the  music  of  bands,  and  the  hurrahs  of 
victory.  If  they  are  told  that  men  are  mowed 
down  like  grass  before  the  scythe,  the  thought 


EXHIBITION  OF  POWER. 


93 


exhilarates  them  as  a  natural  step  in  the  progress 
to  the  event,  inasmuch  as  they  do  not  realize  in 
their  feelings  that  anybody  is  hurt  in  the  operation 
of  mowing. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  writer  chooses  to  be 
"  realistic  " — that  is,  realistic  on  the  other  side  of 
the  picture — and  gives  full  account  of  the  horrible 
wounds,  the  shrieks  of  agony,  the  smell  of  blood, 
the  brutal  onslaughts,  the  presence  of  death  and 
despair,  his  narrative  may  interest,  but  from  an 
entirely  different  principle.  The  interest  is  no 
longer  from  an  exhibition  of  power.  It  may  be 
that  of  the  moralist,  of  which  we  shall  speak  by 
and  by.  Or  it  may  be  delight  in  blood  and  cruelty 
which  demonstrates  the  tiger  in  human  nature. 
The  soldier  of  whom  we  just  spoke,  who  is  merely 
callous,  will  not  be  pleased  by  such  a  recital. 
Those  are  the  things  he  seeks  to  overlook  as  well 
in  actual  battle  as  in  the  description.  It  is  the 
one  who  pants  "  for  the  dreadful  privilege  to 
kill "  *  who  takes  pleasure  in  such  particulars. 
They  arouse,  and  to  some  extent  gratify,  the  pred- 
atory lust.  "  Even  in  the  midst  of  compassion," 
observes  Montaigne,  f  "  we  feel  within  I  know 
not  what  tart-sweet  titillation  of  malicious  pleas- 
ure in  seeing  others  suffer  ;  children  even  have  the 
same  feeling."  This  introduces  us  to  the  whole 
subject  of  representation  of  the  brutal  and  cruel, 

*  Horace,  Sat.  X.,  96.  f  "  Essais,"  III.,  c.  i. 


94 


PHILOSOPHY   OF  FICTION. 


which  belongs  rather  to  the  category  of  suffering 
than  of  power.  It  is  well  for  us,  however,  to  note 
here  the  fact  that  connected  with  the  exercise  of 
destructive  power  there  is  an  original  pleasure, 
which  is  distinctively  that  of  the  carnivorous 
animal  in  killing  its  prey.  It  is  shown  in  Bill 
Sykes  of  Dickens,  in  many  of  the  characters  and 
incidents  of  Roderick  Random  and  Peregrine 
Pickle,  and  the  novels  of  that  period  ;  in  Mr.  Rider 
Haggard's  Umslopogaas,  in  Mr.  Stevenson's  Hyde, 
and  also  in  some  of  the  scenes  of  Tolstoi's  "  War 
and  Peace." 

From  this  element  of  bloodthirstiness  exhibi, 
tions  of  constructive  power  are  free,  though  the 
same  fatal  effects  may  follow  from  disregard  of 
the  pain  of  others,  as  in  cases  of  an  overweening 
and  selfish  ambition.  But  in  these  instances  the 
sympathy  arises  from  the  greatness  of  accomplish- 
ment, the  attainment  of  magnificent  ends,  the  sur- 
passing of  serious  obstacles,  the  triumph  over 
difficulties.  Hence  our  interest  in  the  founders  of 
empires,  the  liberators  of  peoples,  the  self-made 
men,  the  inventors,  the  great  philanthropists.  For 
the  last-named,  however,  admiration  does  not 
spring  wholly  from  sympathy  with  the  achieve- 
ments as  such,  but  from  their  beneficent  character, 
their  social  value,  their  utility.  Yet  this  altruistic 
regard  is  never  essential  to  the  interest.  The 
development  of  a  selfishness,  able  in  securing  its 
own  ends,  is  just  as  sure  to  hold  the  attention, 


EXHIBITION  OF  POWER.  95 

because  it  exhibits  capacity  and  superiority. 
Becky  Sharp*  is  certainly  one  of  the  characters 
of  fiction  that  will  endure,  and  it  is  not  virtuous 
self-abnegation  that  appears  as  the  prominent 
feature  of  her  career.  Again,  the  successful  spoli- 
ation of  Cousin  Ponsf  strikes  us  as  exceedingly 
clever,  and  we  even  detect  ourselves  entering 
into  the  plot  with  the  conspirators  and  suggest- 
ing how  we  would  do  the  thing  if  we  were  the 
actors.  This  is  simply  the  interest  in  skilful 
activity,  in  contrivance,  inventiveness,  which  ob- 
tains whether  the  end  be  diabolical  or  divine. 

We  shall  not  consider  in  this  place  how  this  last 
interest  is  nullified  or  counteracted,  further  than 
to  say  that  it  is  by  moral  feeling.  But  even  if 
our  disapproval  is  strong,  the  story  will  occupy 
our  mind  if  it  be  artistically  told,  with  the  un- 
pleasant side  of  the  events  well-concealed  or  mini- 
fied. When,  however,  the  plan  of  the  tale  is  to 
overwhelm,  crush,  or  punish  this  able  wickedness 
by  a  vis  major  of  retributive  justice,  it  may  be 
important  to  the  effect  to  set  forth  saliently  and 
in  detail  the  enormity  of  the  villany,  in  order  to 
make  the  triumph  of  the  good  seem  greater. 

As  connected  with  the  exhibition  of  skill  and 
clever  control  of  means  for  given  ends,  we  must 
not  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  impression  of 
power  left  upon  the  reader  often  is  very  largely 

*  Thackeray.  \  Balzac. 


96  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

that  of  the  creative  genius  of  the  author.  We 
wonder  how  one  small  head  could  possibly  have 
contained  all  the  knowledge  spun  out  in  chapter 
after  chapter  of  scenes  and  incidents  involving  a 
multitude  of  characters.  Without  this  admiration 
I  do  not  believe  a  reading  public  ever  would  have 
endured  such  interminable  and  tedious  produc- 
tions as  Eugene  Sue's  "  Wandering  Jew "  and 
Victor  Hugo's  "  Les  Miserables."  We  are  amazed 
at  the  magnitude  of  the  work,  at  the  intricacy  of 
the  plot,  at  the  skilful  handling  of  such  a  large 
section  of  human  experience,  and,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  "  Wandering  Jew,"  at  the  range  of  space 
involved.  We  say  to  ourselves  that  the  author 
must  be  a  giant  in  intellect,  and  we  read  on  and 
on,  spite  of  our  weariness,  to  find  out  what  new 
and  remarkable  circumstance  he  will  give  us  next. 
This  same  interest  in  the  author  obtains,  as  has 
been  remarked,  to  some  extent  in  every  work. 
His  brightness,  his  cleverness,  his  constructive 
power,  his  faithfulness  in  reproducing — all  influ- 
ence our  feelings ;  the  story  first,  to  be  sure,  but 
then,  reflectively,  the  author's  genius. 

Another  form  of  the  impression  of  power  is 
associated  with  those  effects  of  the  sublime  men- 
tioned in  the  first  part  of  the  chapter.  I  refer  to 
the  supernatural,  as  personality.  This  is  con- 
cerned, of  course,  with  the  religious  sentiments, 
the  basis  of  which  is  fear.  But  this  fear  gives 
place  to  a  pleasurable  sense  of  dependence,  trust, 


EXHIBITION  OF  POWER. 


97 


and  faith,  whenever  we  feel  that  by  propitiation 
we  have  won  the  favor  of  Deity.  We  thus  enter 
into  relations  of  sympathy  with  supernatural 
beings  at  the  same  time  that  we  are  exalted  by 
their  power  and  majesty.  It  is  the  contentment 
of  the  child,  who  feels  safe  from  danger  in  the 
protecting  care  of  a  parent's  greater  power. 
Moreover,  fear,  though  an  intrinsically  painful 
emotion,  does  fix  the  attention  upon  the  object 
causing  it.  Anything,  therefore,  from  which  pain 
is  apprehended  is  necessarily  interesting.  Fear  is 
not  the  acute  pain  of  a  hurt,  but  a  massive  oppres- 
sion, which  first  stimulates  to  find  a  way  of  escape 
from  the  threatening  peril,  and  then,  if  none  be 
found,  abates  all  the  energies.  But  in  the  sym- 
pathetic fear  which  the  reader  experiences  in  the 
narration  of  dangers  menacing  the  characters  of  a 
story,  the  ultimate  effects  of  the  emotion  are  not 
felt  because,  ordinarily,  it  cannot  be  made  suffi- 
ciently strong.  The  effect  of  arresting  and  hold- 
ing the  attention  is  accomplished,  but  unless  the 
fear-inspiring  situation  is  held  before  the  mind  too 
long,  the  reader  gets  the  stimulation  without  the 
depression.  An  exception  which  proves  the  rule 
is,  that  people  of  weak  nerves,  or  those  who  are 
ill,  frequently  are  unable  to  bear  ghost  stories, 
because  the  actual  terror  aroused  is  so  great  that 
they  must  get  rid  of  it  by  discontinuing  the  read- 
ing and  turning  the  mind  to  something  else.  With 
the  most  of  people,  however,  the  feeling  evoked  by 
7 


98  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

such  tales  is  that  which  is  indicated  by  the  phrase 
"  creepy-crawly,"  which  is  an  emotion  of  fear  strong 
enough,  but  not  too  strong,  to  fix  the  attention. 
Thus,  the  depiction  of  power  which  creates  fear 
is  an  important  element  of  interest  in  the  story, 
provided  there  be  not  too  great  intensity  or  long 
continuance  of  the  effect. 

Such  novels  as  Bulwer's  "  Zanoni "  deal  out 
about  the  proper  modicum  of  the  supernatural,  the 
mysterious,  the  fear-inspiring ;  while  Foe's  stories 
administer  an  overdose.  In  "  Zanoni  "  there  is  a 
human  and  a  supernatural  interest,  and  the  being 
through  whom  the  latter  is  excited  is  an  excellent 
and  admirable  character  on  the  whole.  The  sug- 
gestions which  stir  up  fear  are  relieved  by  others 
of  a  cheerful  and  enlivening  character.  Foe,  on 
the  other  hand,  piles  horrors  upon  us  without 
stint  or  alleviation,  until  we  begin  to  revert  to  the 
author  and  think  him  a  maniac.  He  overdoes  the. 
matter.  It  is  the  fault  of  most  writers  who  make 
a  specialty  of  supernatural  stories  and  tales  of 
terror.  In  Beckford's  "Vathek,"  however,  the 
equilibrium  is  admirably  preserved,  but  who,  now- 
adays, would  admire  Walpole's  "  Castle  of  Otran- 
to,"  or  Anne  Radcliffe's  "  Mysteries  of  Udolpho  "  ? 
Where  horror  is  accumulated  without  relief,  one 
of  two  things  happens.  Either  the  reader  is  so 
painfully  shocked  that  he  throws  the  book  down, 
or  the  monotony  of  the  terrible  disgusts  him  and 
he  abandons  it  for  that  cause. 


EXHIBITION  OF  POWER. 


99 


Allied  with  this  fascination  of  the  supernatural, 
the  fearful,  and  grewsome  is  the  curiosity  excited 
by  mysterious  and  abnormal  natural  phenomena. 
These  are  available  to  the  novelist  for  like  reasons. 
There  is  also,  no  doubt,  a  scientific  impulse  toward 
inquiry  aroused  in  the  reader.  The  series  of  tales 
by  Dr.  William  A.  Hammond  and  the  Marquise 
Clara  Lanza,  entitled  "  Tales  of  Eccentric  Life," 
well  illustrate  the  charm  of  this  kind  of  fiction ; 
as  also  does,  and  most  admirably,  the  more  im- 
portant work  of  Madame  Lanza,  "  Mr.  Perkins's 
Daughter,"  wherein  the  story  turns  upon  the  very 
curious  and  dramatic  circumstance  of  a  "  double 
consciousness  "  of  the  heroine. 

The  use  made  of  the  supernatural  for  ideal  cre- 
ations of  the  beautiful  and  the  good — angelic  and 
seraphic  beings  with  celestial  surroundings — pre- 
sents power  unalloyed  by  associations  of  pain  and 
destruction.  Hence  the  popularity  of  fairy  stories. 
If  well  constructed,  they  fulfil  very  perfectly  the 
conditions  of  creative  art.  The  difficulty  with 
them  is  the  lack  of  human  interest,  which,  after 
all,  is  necessary  to  most  people  for  the  enjoyment 
of  a  work  of  fiction. 

In  the  general  survey  now  made  of  the  effects  of 
the  exhibition  of  power,  we  discover  that  we  have 
reached  one  generic  cause  of  interest  in  a  romance. 
It  is  such  because  it  is  an  object  of  engrossing 
interest  in  actual  experience.  Power,  as  physical 
force,  as  mechanism,  as  skill,  as  constructive,  as 


100  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

destructive,  as  comprehended  or  as  mysterious,  as 
natural  or  as  supernatural — impresses  itself  always 
upon  the  mind.  The  course  of  man's  life  is  one 
of  exertion,  of  effort,  of  achievement.  Strength 
means  life,  growth,  development,  conservation.  In 
Chapter  II.  we  made  a  synthesis  of  pleasures, 
showing  how  they  all  relate  to  the  three  functions 
of  growth,  preservation,  and  reproduction.  The 
ends  we  have  been  considering  in  the  present 
chapter  are  typically  the  ends  of  egoistic  develop- 
ment and  expansion — the  enlargement  of  the  in- 
dividual self.  Hence,  whatever  shows  power  or 
strength,  whether  in  exercise  or  held  in  reserve, 
always  must  be  a  primary  object  of  sympathetic 
human  interest. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   EXHIBITION   OF   SUFFERING. 

IF  one  of  the  chief  conditions  of  aesthetic  effect 
be  the  rejection  or  abolition  of  the  disagreeable 
and  painful,  the  interest  felt  in  the  portrayal  of 
suffering  would  seem  to  be  anomalous ;  for  that 
such  interest  exists  is  undeniable.  It  proceeds 
from  a  variety  of  sources.  We  will  first  consider 
suffering  uncomplicated  by  moral  feelings  on  the 
part  of  the  patient,  as  we  find  it  in  sickness,  pov- 
erty, or  misfortune,  not  associated  with  guilt  or 
misdemeanor. 

Our  interest  in  our  fellow  human  beings  pro- 
ceeds from  the  gregarious  nature  of  man.  An 
individual  cannot  attain  his  own  ends  of  develop- 
ment and  perfection,  nor  gratify  his  own  wants 
completely,  without  the  use  of  and  aid  furnished 
by  others  of  his  own  kind.  The  only  way  in  which 
he  can  obtain  this  assistance  at  all  perfectly  is 
when  it  is  accorded  voluntarily.  The  sole  method 
of  creating  in  another  a  voluntary  disposition  to 
help  is  to  entertain  and  show  a  reciprocal  willing- 
ness to  subserve  the  wishes  and  ends  of  that  other. 
Hence,  the  natural  appetite  for  society,  and  the 


IO2  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

birth  of  sympathy.  The  interests  of  a  peaceful 
association  of  sentient  beings  cannot  be  secured 
without  a  capacity  to  enter  into  the  feelings  of 
others,  and  make  them  in  some  degree  one's  own. 
The  peculiarity  of  the  sympathetic  emotions  is 
the  attaching  of  certain  feelings  relating  primarily 
to  ourselves  to  another  personality,  and  having 
those  feelings  aroused  by  the  circumstances  of  an- 
other person  or  being.  These  emotions  are  de- 
veloped very  powerfully  through  the  sexual  and 
family  relations.  They  are  also  extended  to  man 
as  man,  and  even  to  animals,  in  the  growth  of  the 
altruistic  character.  Selfishness  and  self-absorb- 
ing ends  diminish  their  force.* 

There  is  no  novelist  who  is  more  successful  in 
the  representation  of  suffering  so  as  to  excite 
sympathy  than  is  Dickens.  As  M.  Taine  says  :f 
"There  is  no  writer  who  knows  better  how  to 
touch  and  melt ;  he  makes  us  weep,  absolutely 
shed  tears ;  before  reading  him,  we  did  not  know 
there  was  so  much  pity  in  the  heart.  The  grief  of 
a  child  who  wishes  to  be  loved  by  his  father,  and 
whom  his  father  does  not  love ;  the  despairing 
love  and  slow  death  of  a  poor,  half-imbecile  young 
man — all  these  pictures  of  secret  grief  leave  an  in- 
effaceable impression.  The  tears  which  he  sheds 
are  genuine,  and  compassion  is  their  only  source." 


*  "  System  of  Psychology,"  Part  VI.,  ch.  xlv. 
f  "  English  Literature,"  Book  V.,  ch.  i. 


EXHIBITION  OF  SUFFERING. 


103 


Probably  his  most  characteristic  portrayals  are 
those  of  the  miseries  of  children  in  ill  conditions. 
We  at  once  think  of  Little  Nell,  Little  Jo,  and 
David  Copperfield  as  types  of  this  class  of  suffer- 
ers. It  is  easy  to  see  in  such  cases  that  the  pa- 
rental feelings  are  the  foundation  of  the  pity  and 
sorrow  we  feel  at  the  hard  and  distressful  fate  of 
these  characters.  This  grief  we  should  not  ex- 
perience, were  it  not  that  the  author  first  creates  a 
very  lovable  personality,  in  whom  our  interest  in- 
creases, and  with  whom  we  are  more  and  more 
disposed  to  sympathize.  A  volume  of  tender 
emotion  is  generated,  which  is  in  itself  agreeable. 
This  produces  a  greater  sensitiveness  to  events 
which  supposably  affect  painfully  the  person 
toward  whom  the  tender  feelings  flow.  But  when 
such  incidents  occur,  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  the  sympathetic  emotions  springing  up  are 
unadulterated  pain.  On  the  contrary,  they  are 
largely  pleasurable.  There  is  the  tender  feeling, 
admiration  for  the  character,  the  skilful  weaving 
of  the  plot,  the  beauty  of  description,  the  rising 
desire  to  relieve  the  suffering.  Even  when  we  are 
moved  to  tears,  their  flow  is  a  relief  and  an  as- 
suagement, succeeded  by  a  calm  and  the  pleasure 
of  repose. 

In  contemplating  the  approach  of  death  there 
are  other  emotions.  We  are  in  the  presence  of 
the  great  Mystery  of  Power.  The  sublime,  the 
supernatural  overshadow  us,  and  with  our  human 


104 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


sympathies  go  along  an  awe  at  the  power  which 
controls  life  and  transcends  knowledge,  and  also  a 
yearning  faith  that  prompts  us  to  lift  up 

"  A  voice  as  unto  Him  that  hears, 
A  cry  above  the  conquered  years, 
To  one  that  with  us  works.'* 

The  religious  aspirations,  sympathies,  and  joys  are 
aroused  in  the  solemn  passing  of  one  whom  we 
have  learned  to  love.  Sorrow  there  is,  but  there 
is  also  peace  and  hope,  and  often  trust.  Deep 
feeling,  indeed,  fills  us  when  we  read  the  following 
passage  from  "  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop,"  but  that 
feeling  is  not  pain.  We  do  not  seek  to  rid  our- 
selves of  it ;  we  rather  cherish  it.  "  They  saw  the 
vault  covered  and  the  stone  fixed  down.  Then, 
when  the  dusk  of  evening  had  come  on,  and  not 
a  sound  disturbed  the  sacred  stillness  of  the  place, 
when  the  bright  moon  poured  in  her  light  on 
tomb  and  monument,  on  pillar,  wall,  and  arch, 
and  most  of  all  (it  seemed  to  them)  upon  her  quiet 
grave — in  that  calm  time,  when  outward  things 
and  inward  thoughts  teem  with  assurances  of  im- 
mortality, and  worldly  hopes  and  fears  are  hum- 
bled in  the  dust  before  them — then,  with  tranquil 
and  submissive  hearts  they  turned  away,  and  left 
the  child  with  God. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  hard  to  take  to  heart  the  lesson  that 
such  deaths  will  teach  ;  but  let  no  man  reject  it, 
for  it  is  one  all  must  learn,  and  is  a  mighty,  uni- 


EXHIBITION  OF  SUFFERING. 


105 


versal  truth.  When  death  strikes  down  the  in- 
nocent and  young,  for  every  fragile  form  from 
which  he  lets  the  panting  spirit  free  a  hundred 
virtues  rise,  in  shapes  of  mercy,  charity,  and  love, 
to  walk  the  world  and  bless  it.  Of  every  tear 
that  sorrowing  mortals  shed  on  such  green  graves 
some  good  is  born,  some  gentler  nature  comes. 
In  the  destroyer's  steps  there  spring  up  bright 
creations  that  defy  his  power,  and  his  dark  path 
becomes  a  way  of  light  to  heaven." 

In  reading  the  description  of  the  sickness  and 
death  of  "  Ivan  Ilyitch,"  by  Tolstoi,  the  sources 
of  our  interest  are  somewhat  different.  We  do  not 
care  much  for  Ivan,  still  less  for  his  family,  or  any- 
body else  introduced  into  the  story.  We  have  no 
tenderness  such  as  we  feel  for  Little  Nell  or  Little 
Jo.  Nor  is  there  anything  beautiful  connected 
with  Ivan's  life,  nor  any  compensating  thought  or 
imagination  suggested  by  his  death.  We  are  held 
by  a  scientific  interest  in  the  development  of  the 
man's  disease  and  his  own  attitude  toward  it. 
We  follow  Ivan's  analyses  and  speculations,  we 
occupy  ourselves  with  his  symptoms,  his  depres- 
sions, his  frights,  his  despair.  It  is  a  medical,  a 
pathological  interest.  But  this  is  not  all.  We  are 
fascinated  by  the  horror  of  the  situation.  We 
cannot  get  away  if  we  try.  I  have  no  doubt  this 
is  the  explanation  of  a  great  deal  of  the  attraction 
horrors  have  in  novels.  It  is  the  force  of  the 
"ide"e  fixe"  which  paralyzes  and  chains.  When, 


106  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

in  the  course  of  our  lives,  we  see  a  horrible  acci- 
dent which  we  are  unable  to  prevent,  we  are  pow- 
erless to  take  our  eyes  off,  though  the  vision  be 
exceedingly  distressing.  If  a  human  being  be 
caught  in  a  machine-belt  before  us,  or  be  dashed 
from  a  carriage  on  a  pile  of  rock,'  we  are  spell- 
bound and  are  forced  to  witness  the  course  of 
events  to  their  end,  because  unable  to  withdraw 
our  gaze.  In  all  this  there  is  no  element  of  pleas- 
ure, nor  can  there  be  in  the  representation  of  such 
things  in  a  story,  excepting  always  in  the  reflec- 
tion upon  the  author's  genius  as  a  word-painter. 
But  descriptions  of  this  sort  will  enthrall  the 
reader  for  a  time.  If,  however,  they  are  too  long- 
continued,  he  will  throw  off  his  paralysis  and  re- 
fuse to  submit  himself  longer  to  the  influencing 
cause.  The  effect  is,  in  itself,  not  aesthetic.  Its 
value  in  literature,  apart  from  the  bearings  of  the 
incident  on  the  plot,  is  that  its  production  is  a 
very  good  device  for  holding  the  attention. 
Where  the  horrible  occurrences  are  made  the  en- 
tire plot  of  the  story,  the  only  permanent  interest 
is,  as  in  "  Ivan  Ilyitch,"  the  value  of  the  narration 
as  a  physiological  and -psychological  study. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  those  cases  of  suffering,  the 
burden  of  which  is  some  error,  wrong,  or  crime 
entailing  direful  consequences.  In  this  category, 
we  may  notice  first,  sins  growing  out  of  the  rela- 
tions of  the  sexes,  such  as  form  the  principal  sub- 
ject of  Scott's  "  Heart  of  Midlothian,"  George 


EXHIBITION  OF  SUFFERING. 


107 


Eliot's  "  Adam  Bede,"  Hawthorne's  "  Scarlet  Let- 
ter," and  Tolstoi's  "Anna  Karenina."  In  the  first 
two  of  these,  crime  in  the  form  of  infanticide  oc- 
curs, and  the  whole  course  of  misfortune  falling 
upon  a  woman  from  irregular  relations  with  a  man 
is  set  forth,  forming  the  main  interest.  Yet  there 
are  a  good  many  subsidiary  interests  in  both  these 
books.  In  the  one  the  descriptions  of  English 
country  life,  and  in  the  other  of  Scotch  peasantry, 
are  of  themselves  exceedingly  entertaining,  and 
no  doubt  would  have  made  the  books  popular 
with  an  entirely  different  plot.  Possessing  this 
background  of  interest,  the  misfortunes  of  the 
two  principal  characters  arouse  sympathy,  the 
pleasurable  quality  of  which  is  greatly  enhanced 
by  the  fact  that,  after  undergoing  grave  peril,  they 
get  out  of  their  difficulties.  The  excitement  of 
danger  always  adds  to  the  glow  of  satisfaction 
when  the  relief  comes.  In  addition,  there  is  a 
very  strong  moral  force  in  the  incidents,  which  is 
often  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to  the  reader. 
He  sympathizes  with  Effie  and  Hetty,  but  the 
sympathy  is  somewhat  of  the  parent  with  the 
child  upon  whom  he  has  inflicted  punishment. 
He  is  sorry  for  the  delinquent,  to  be  sure,  but  on 
the  whole  rather  glad  to  have  him  punished.  But 
the  reader's  sympathetic  pain  cannot,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  be  as  strong  as  that  of  the  loving  parent 
for  the  whipped  child.  The  reader,  too,  thinks 
of  the  general  moral  and  educational  effect,  and 


108  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

while  he  is  glad  that  the  young  women  escaped 
death,  he  is  pleased  on  the  score  of  justice,  moral- 
ity, and  religion  that  they  were  taught  a  severe 
lesson.  Those  of  a  less  stern  nature,  who  would 
entertain  the  retributory  sentiments  to  a  less  de- 
gree and  whose  sympathies  are  stronger  for  the 
woes  of  the  wrong-doers,  will  feel  that  exaltation 
of  the  emotional  nature  which  tender  feeling 
always  causes,  and  also  will  have  in  their  own  way 
a  moral  joy,  believing  that, 

"  The  noblest  pity  on  the  earth 
Is  that  bestowed  on  sin."  * 

Another  reflection  should  occur  to  us  with  refer- 
ence to  all  accounts  of  weakness,  suffering,  and 
crime.  The  incidents  of  suffering  and  the  charac- 
ters undergoing  it  serve  as  a  foil  to  set  off  stronger 
characters  and  give  them  an  opportunity  to  dis- 
play the  noble  qualities  of  human  nature : 

"  The  gods  in  bounty  work  up  storms  about  us, 
That  give  mankind  occasion  to  exert 
Their  hidden  strength,  and  throw  out  into  practice 
Virtues  which  shun  the  day  and  lie  concealed 
In  the  smooth  seasons  and  the  calms  oflife."f 

Mountains  would  not  be  grand  were  it  not  for 
plains  and  valleys ;  strong  men  would  not  be 
strong  were  none  weak;  goodness  would  not 
shine  were  there  no  evil ;  and  against  the  ill-for- 

*  J.  G.  Holland.  \  Addison. 


EXHIBITION  OF  SUFFERING.  109 

tunes  of  Effie  Deans  and  Hetty  we  have  a  proper 
and  satisfactory  compensation  in  the  characters 
of  Jeanie  Deans  in  the  one  story,  and  Adam  Bede 
and  Dinah  in  the  other. 

The  "Scarlet  Letter"  and  "Anna  Kar^nina " 
present  some  points  of  similarity  with  respect  to 
the  present  topic.  It  is  no  part  of  the  purpose  of 
this  essay  to  pass  judgment  on  any  book  cited, 
nor  to  estimate,  either  absolutely  or  comparatively, 
its  merits  as  a  literary  product,  beyond  what  is 
necessary  for  the  purposes  of  illustration.  Readers 
will  doubtless  miss  some  of  their  favorites  and 
very  likely  be  able  to  suggest  better  illustrations 
than  those  I  employ.  This  is  inevitable,  on  ac- 
count of  differences  in  taste  and  the  vast  amount 
of  material  to  select  from.  All  that  is  aimed  at 
here  is  to  choose  fairly  representative  examples. 
In  this  view  I  bring  together  the  works  just  men- 
tioned. Setting  aside  the  differences  in  style,  in 
incident,  in  scene,  in  nationality,  there  is  a  com- 
munity between  the  two  in  that  both  are  an  exhi- 
bition of  the  slow  course  of  retributory  suffering 
to  a  woman  from  irregular  indulgence.  The  con- 
trast between  them  is  in  the  final  result,  which  in 
the  case  of  Anna  Kar£nina  is  unbalanced  mind 
and  horrible  suicide,  but  in  Hester  Prynne  is  a 
new  life  chastened  and  beatified,  a  source  of  com- 
fort and  help  to  others.  The  one  is  the  cruci- 
fixion without  the  resurrection,  the  other  with  it. 
In  both  of  these  books  the  interest  is  primarily 


1 10  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

moral.  E.  M.  de  Vogue"  speaks  of  "  Anna  Kar£- 
nina  "  as  a  "  manual  of  morals "  in  Russia,  yet 
there  is  no  question  but,  viewing  the  two  from  this 
ground,  the  "  Scarlet  Letter"  leaves  a  much  better 
impression,  inasmuch  as  hope  is  brought  to  the 
foreground  instead  of  despair.  This  is  the  com- 
pensatory relief  of  which  I  have  spoken,  for  which 
the  reader  has  a  conscious  or  unconscious  longing. 
In  the  Russian  novel  it  is  found,  so  far  as  it  goes, 
in  the  change  of  heart  of  Levin,  and  his  contented 
life.  It  must  be  said,  however,  that  this  did  not 
help  Anna  Kar£nina  very  much.  The  influence  of 
Tolstoi's  book,  then,  may  be  educationally  good ; 
its  issue,  so  far  as  relates  to  the  Kar6nins,  may  sat- 
isfy the  sense  of  justice ;  but  the  merciful  element, 
which  appears  in  the  "  Scarlet  Letter,"  is  wanting. 
In  realistic  description  of  suffering  the  inter- 
est may  be  held  on  the  principle  of  the  idte  fixe, 
which  we  considered  in  a  recent  paragraph.  Vic- 
tor Hugo's  "  Le  Dernier  Jour  d'un  Condemn^"  il- 
lustrates this  sort  of  writing ;  and  more  strikingly 
still,  Dostoyevsky's  "  Crime  and  Punishment." 
The  remorse  and  fear  of  Jonas  in  "  Martin  Chuz- 
zlewit  "  may  also  be  cited  among  several  good  ex- 
amples from  Dickens.  "  Crime  and  Punishment," 
though  perhaps  not  so  generally  known  as  the 
others,  furnishes  certainly  one  of  the  very  strong- 
est exhibitions  in  literature  of  the  subjective 
effects  of  crime  upon  the  criminal,  the  workings 
of  fear  and  remorse  upon  an  impressionable 


EXHIBITION  OF  SUFFERING.  m 

nature,  at  last  making  life  intolerable  and  bring- 
ing the  sufferer  to  the  verge  of  madness.  But  in 
every  successful  book  containing  the  portrayal  of 
this  sort  of  experience  there  is  always  something 
to  relieve  the  tension  of  the  reader's  mind  and  re- 
deem the  horror  of  the  situation ;  and  those  just 
cited  form  no  exception.  The  pictures  of  Russian 
life  in  "  Crime  and  Punishment  "  are  entertaining, 
and  the  final  eventual  liberation  of  the  sufferer  and 
his  spiritual  redemption  through  the  devotion  of 
the  girl  Sonia,  who  also  is  rescued  from  degrada- 
tion, bring  the  story  to  an  agreeable  conclusion. 
As  for  Dickens,  every  one  knows  how  he  alter- 
nates tears  and  laughter,  and  never  permits  to 
the  reader  a  monotony  of  feeling. 

Inasmuch  as  we  shall  in  a  subsequent  chapter 
refer  to  the  novels  of  "  manners,"  exhibiting  so- 
cial movements  and  conditions,  we  will  not  at 
present  dwell  upon  narratives  of  general  social 
wretchedness,  such  as  have  been  produced  by 
Dickens,  Eugene  Sue,  Victor  Hugo,  Balzac,  M. 
Zola,  and  the  Russians.  They  do  not  display  any 
sources  of  interest  other  than  those  already  men- 
tioned, save  that  of  social  progress  and  develop- 
ment. But  something  more  may  be  said  with 
reference  to  stories  of  war  and  battle  scenes  which 
present  suffering  in  its  most  terrible  form.  In 
these  I  think  there  is  often  that  predatory  joy  of 
killing  which  was  spoken  of  in  the  last  chapter. 
This  surely  is  an  element  of  the  interest  in  stories 


112  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

of  the  hunting  down  of  criminals  or  the  destruc- 
tion of  robbers  and  pirates  in  combat.  The  moral 
sense  of  justice  reconciles  us  to  our  wolfish  pleas- 
ure and  makes  us  believe  that  our  lack  of  sym- 
pathy or  our  positive  antipathy  is  very  praise- 
worthy. Nevertheless,  disguise  it  as  we  may, 
there  is  a  subtle,  malignant,  and  devilish  pleasure 
in  seeing  people  hunted,  tortured,  and  killed.  If 
there  be  revenge,  it  adds  wonderfully  to  this  de- 
light. Whether  we  read  the  detective  stories  of 
Gaboriau,  the  brutal  scenes  of  the  Smollett  tribe 
of  novelists,  or  the  realistic  descriptions  of  "  Sebas- 
topol  "  and  "  War  and  Peace,"  *  we  are  more  or 
less  animated  by  the  ecstasy  that  makes  the  Indian 
preparing  for  war  dance  around  the  fire  with  up- 
lifted tomahawk  and  think  voluptuously  of  the 
scalps  of  the  morrow.  The  more  brutal  the  nature 
the  more  this  lust  is  stimulated.  To  be  sure  there 
are  comparatively  few  readers  who  are  not  con- 
trolled by  other  and  better  sentiments  ;  but  the 
desire  for  vengeance  we  have  always  with  us  in 
some  degree  ;  and,  quite  independently  of  this, 
there  are  always  some  eager  to  give  the  pollice 
verso  sign.  Indeed,  more  of  us  than  would  admit 
it  are  glad  to  have  an  infusion  of  the  blood-fury 
in  the  stories  that  occupy  our  leisure.  We  like  to 
see  the  devil  "  skelp  "  and  "  scaud  "  poor  wretches 
and  hear  them  squeal.  We  admire  the  exhibition 

*  Tolstoi. 


EXHIBITION  OF  SUFFERING.  113 

of  the  power  of  Ulysses  in  his  fight  with  Irus,  but 
we  also  enjoy  seeing  the  beggar  smashed. 

Further  than  this,  all  the  pleasures  of  witness- 
ing the  display  of  strength  and  skill  leading  to 
success  which  we  mentioned  fully  in  the  last  chap- 
ter form  the  main  interests  in  war  scenes,  with  the 
moral  feelings  aroused  by  suffering  and  its  tender 
suggestions  as  variations.  The  heroic  generally 
causes  us  to  forget  the  brutal.  Where  the  latter 
is  brought  before  us,  however,  we  are  interested 
either  from  the  fascination  of  the  idte  fixe,  or  f rom 
latent  fierceness  and  cruelty  and  the  spirit  of  re- 
venge in  our  own  sentiments.  It  is  fortunately 
the  case  that  on  the  whole  the  sympathetic  side 
of  human  nature  is  growing  more  controlling  and 
we  demand  more  and  more  that  our  sympathies  be 
ministered  unto.  Then  it  is  endurance,  self-sacri- 
fice, devotion  to  a  cause,  courage  in  the  face  of 
attack  rather  than  in  attacking,  that  command  our 
greatest  interest,  inasmuch  as  we  feel  with  Carlyle 
that  "  the  essential  function  of  the  soldier  is  not 
killing  but  being  killed." 

To  sum  up  :  the  exhibition  of  suffering  interests 
us  sympathetically,  from  developing  pleasurable 
tender  emotion,  finding  its  issue  in  pity,  sorrow, 
tears  ;  morally,  from  its  bearings  on  moral  char- 
acter, on  justice,  education,  and  human  welfare 
generally ;  scientifically,  from  its  psychological 
and  pathological  phenomena ;  brutally,  from  the 
enjoyment  we  share  with  other  carnivorous  ani- 
8 


1 14  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

mals  in  pursuing,  tearing,  and  killing  prey  ;  and, 
once  more,  from  the  serpent  fascination  of  the 
idte  fixe,  which  holds  us  to  the  contemplation  of 
horrors  against  our  will.* 

*The  Forum  for  September,  1889,  contains  an  excellent  article 
by  Mr.  James  Sully,  whose  title,  '  The  Luxury  of  Pity,"  explains 
sufficiently  its  relation  to  the  present  topic. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   EXHIBITION   OF   LOVE. 

THAT  accomplished  scholar  and  critic,  Mr. 
Brander  Matthews,  in  an  essay  entitled  "  The 
Philosophy  of  the  Short-story/'*  explains  that  one 
great  difference  between  the  short-story  and  the 
novel  proper  "  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  novel,  now- 
adays at  least,  must  be  a  love-tale,  while  the  short- 
story  need  not  deal  with  love  at  all."  "  Since 
love  is  almost  the  only  thing  which  will  give  in- 
terest to  a  long  story,  the  writer  of  novels  has  to 
get  love  into  his  tales  as  best  he  may,  even  when 
the  subject  rebels  and  when  he  himself  is  too  old 
to  take  any  interest  in  the  mating  of  John  and 
Joan.  But  the  short-story,  being  brief,  does  not 
need  a  love-interest  to  hold  its  parts  together,  and 
the  writer  of  short-stories  has  thus  a  greater  free- 
dom ;  he  may  do  as  he  pleases ;  from  him  a  love- 
tale  is  not  expected." 

No  doubt  Mr.  Matthews  is  correct  in  his  state- 
ment of  what  has  been  and  is  the  inexorability  of 
the  demand  for  a  love-interest  of  some  sort  in 

*  ' '  Pen  and  Ink. " 


U6  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

every  novel.  So  far  has  this  gone  that  its  existence 
seems,  in  the  minds  of  some,  to  be  the  distinctive 
character  of  prose  fiction.  For  instance,  we  run 
across  this  very  extraordinary  definition  by  P. 
Bayne :  "  The  novel  is  a  domestic  history,  whose 
whole  interest  centres  in  a  tale  of  love."  I  won- 
der what  this  oracle  would  call  Mr.  Stevenson's 
"  Jekyll  and  Hyde  "  !  I  suppose  he  would  reckon 
it  as  a  short-story,  though  Mr.  Matthews  does  not 
think  the  work  compressed  enough  to  be  fairly  so 
called.  But  a  story  it  is ;  it  is  highly  interesting, 
and  there  is  no  domestic  history  involving  love. 
If  it  had  been  a  little  longer,  we  could  still  have 
got  along  without  love ;  but  if  it  had  been  ex- 
panded to  three  volumes,  the  amatory  interest 
being  still  absent,  probably  we  should  have  missed 
something.  The  reason  of  this  is,  as  seems  to  me, 
not  that  love  is  indispensable  to  interest,  which  is 
surely  not  the  case,  but  rather  that  we  cannot  pro- 
duce a  correct  representation  of  any  considerable 
portion  of  human  experience  without  encounter- 
ing the  influences  and  effects  of  this  passion. 
Dealing  with  half  a  dozen,  a  dozen,  a  score  of 
characters,  male  and  female,  if  we  cover  very 
much  of  their  careers  and  take  account  of  no  man- 
ifestation of  love — romantic,  conjugal,  or  parental 
— our  edifice  is  lop-sided,  imperfectly  and  unnat- 
urally constructed.  Love  plays  so  prominent  a 
part  in  life,  has  so  dominant  an  influence  on  con- 
duct, that  its  absence  as  a  motive  is  at  once  felt 


EXHIBITION  OF  LOVE. 


II/ 


by  the  reader,  and  the  plot  from  which  it  is  omitted 
seems  very  artificial. 

The  topic  of  suffering  has  served  as  a  bridge  to 
conduct  us  naturally  from  one  extreme  form  of 
human  interest  to  another.  The  pleasures  and 
ends  which  were  indicated  in  our  treatment  of 
the  Exhibition  of  Power  are,  as  we  noted  at  the 
close  of  Chapter  VII.,  those  of  individual  egoistic 
development.  They  are  characteristically  the  self- 
ish interests.  In  the  last  chapter  we  saw  how  the 
entrance  of  sympathetic  emotion  tended  to  soften 
the  selfishness  of  human  nature  and  create  a  gen- 
uine altruistic  sentiment.  We  now  pass  to  a  pow- 
erful altruistic  interest :  the  individual-,  through 
the  appetites  of  society  and  sex,  coming  to  find 
his  happiness  in  that  of  others  in  forming  ends  of 
life,  and  seeking  satisfaction  of  them  in  reproduc- 
tion or  race  development.  Since  he,  the  individual, 
must  die,  he  will  endeavor  to  perpetuate  himself 
in  his  offspring.  This  he  does  instinctively,  and 
the  appetites  and  passions  leading  to  this  result 
are  often  stronger  than  the  motives  to  self-preser- 
vation. 

These  facts  of  human  constitution  furnish  ample 
explanation  of  the  interest  which  the  exhibition 
of  love  in  its  various  forms  creates  in  the  reader  of 
a  novel.  Love  between  the  sexes  in  itself,  the 
love  of  husband  and  wife,  and  parental  affection, 
are  the  three  chief  modes  in  which  the  sentiment 
is  made  to  appear;  and  of  these  the  first  and  third 


Il8  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

furnish  the  best  situations  for  the  development  of 
incident.  Movement  interests  rather  than  rest, 
becoming  rather  than  being.  Our  attention  is 
more  readily  held  by  the  process  of  uniting  or 
disuniting,  the  pursuit  of  an  end  sought,  than  by 
a  calm  monotony  of  life,  wherein  nothing  in  par- 
ticular occurs.  No  doubt  much  happier  are  they 
who  have  no  history ;  but  the  reader  of  their 
chronicles  will  be  better  satisfied  if  the  river  of 
life  flows  less  smoothly. 

Love,  as  we  employ  the  term  in  this  chapter, 
exhibits  the  workings  of  two  natural,  primary, 
fundamental  appetites:  society  and  sex.  The 
former  was  described  sufficiently  in  the  last  chap- 
ter as  the  innate  desire  for  the  amicable  presence 
of  others  of  one's  kind.  If  we  trace  this  want  to 
its  ultimate  sources,  I  think  we  should  find  it  in 
the  pleasure  of  soft,  warm  contact,  which  induces 
cows  to  rub  against  each  other  and  squirrels  to 
nestle  together.  It  causes  a  transmission  of  vital- 
ity. If  to  this  primitive  sensibility  we  add  the 
sexual  promptings,  we  have  the  foundation  for 
the  establishment  of  gregariousness.  These  two 
elements  are  developed  in  varying  relations  with 
respect  to  each  other.  The  society-appetite  favors 
unselfishness,  because,  as  we  saw,  there  is  no  soci- 
ety without  reciprocity.  The  sex-appetite  is  much 
more  egoistic.  But  even  to  its  gratification  a 
reciprocal  interest  becomes  important,  and  when 
there  is  superadded  parental  love  we  often  have 


EXHIBITION  OF  LOVE. 

exemplified  the  most  utter  self-abnegation.  The 
sex-appetite  is  more  intense  and  imperious  than 
the  other,  but  it  is  also  more  evanescent.  It  often 
goes  out  in  smoke — unless  the  flame  be  fed  with 
the  fuel  which  the  appetite  for  society  supplies. 
The  social  wants  extend  over  the  whole  of  life 
and  favor  the  formation  of  remote  ends  and  pur- 
poses, toward  which  the  efforts  of  a  career  may 
converge.  The  sex  impulses  are  concentrated  and 
limited.  They  are  more  emotional  and  passional, 
less  intellectual  and  representative.  They  are 
fiercer  and  less  manageable.  The  others  are  more 
sustained  and  more  readily  controlled. 

There  is  in  love  between  the  sexes  always  a 
combination  of  the  social  and  the  purely  sexual; 
the  former  issuing  in  the  higher  and  more  spirit- 
ual developments  of  the  sentiment,  the  latter  in 
lower  appetitive  satisfactions.  In  narrative  exhi- 
bitions of  this  passion  it  is  possible,  therefore,  to 
present  both  sides,  but  there  are  many  reasons 
why  the  manifestations  of  the  sex-appetite  are 
generally  not  deemed  fit  subjects  for  the  novelist's 
portrayals.  With  regard  to  social  interests,  there 
is  a  wide  range  from  those  sentiments  which  make 
of  love  a  projected  life-interest,  involving  mar- 
riage, children,  and  all  the  kinds  of  community 
which  a  unity  of  life  involves,  to  its  spontaneous 
breaking  forth  as  an  emotion  sufficient  for  itself 
in  the  present,  without  regard  for  its  future 
advantages  and  utilities.  The  latter  exempli- 


120  PHILOSOPHY    OF  FICTION. 

fies   love  in  its  complete   development  as  a  pas- 
sion. 

Of  course,  the  reader's  interest  is  a  sympathetic 
one ;  and,  so  far  as  the  incidents  call  for  it,  there 
exists  the  sympathy  with  suffering  of  which  we 
spoke  in  the  last  chapter.  Many  of  the  stories  of 
blighted  affection,  of  harassing  obstacles  to  the 
fruition  of  love,  of  married  unhappiness,  upon 
which  George  Sand  is  so  fond  of  dwelling,  or  such 
as  we  find  in  "  Middlemarch  "  *  or  in  "  Daniele 
Cortice,"  f  illustrate  these  conditions.  But  the 
characteristic  interest  is  rather  that  which  we 
have  in  a  strong  motive  force,  governing  action 
and  possessing  the  whole  nature.  In  the  words 
of  Balzac :  \  "  We  may  here  remark  on  the  infil- 
trating, transforming  power  of  an  overmastering 
emotion.  However  coarse  the  fibre  of  the  indi- 
vidual, let  him  be  held  by  a  strong  and  genuine 
affection,  and  he  exhales,  as  it  were,  an  essence, 
which  illuminates  his  features,  inspires  his  ges- 
tures, and  gives  cadence  to  his  voice.  It  happens 
sometimes  that  the  dullest  soul,  under  the  lash  of 
passion,  attains  to  such  eloquence  of  thought,  if 
not  of  language,  that  it  seems  to  move  in  lumi- 
nous air."  Love,  therefore,  is  really,  after  all 
said,  an  exhibition  of  power,  but  of  introsuscep- 
tive,  assimilative,  constructive  power,  of  transfigu- 
ration and  transformation ;  not  the  triumph  of 

*  George  Eliot.  f  Fogga^ro.  |  "  Pere  Goriot." 


EXHIBITION  OF  LOVE.  I2l 

muscular  energy  nor  the  putting  forth  of  brute 
force. 

Any  of  the  great  passions  of  human  life  which 
seize  hold  of  and  possess  men — like  anger,  re- 
venge, avarice,  lust,  ambition — interest  the  reader 
when  effectively  set  forth  by  the  novelist.  Many 
story-writers  have  made  their  reputation,  as  Bayne 
says  of  Charlotte  Bronte,  "  by  the  delineation  of 
one  relentless  and  tyrannizing  passion."  The 
causes  of  this  interest  have  been  already  ex- 
plained. But  the  generally  benevolent  and  bene- 
ficent character  of  love  creates  a  superior  interest 
in  those  who  are  sufficiently  cultivated  to  belong 
to  the  recognized  reading  public.  True,  the 
popularity  of  cheap  tales  of  blood  and  adventure, 
of  "  shilling  thrillers,"  admonishes  us  not  to  be- 
lieve that  the  educated  and  refined  are  the  only 
readers  of  stories.  With  the  vulgarized  and  bru- 
talized, a  good  love-story  is  either  something  ob- 
scene or  it  is  some  wild  romance  of  abduction  and 
pursuit,  of  jealousy  and  murder  because  of  women. 
But  people  of  this  order  do  not  write  criticisms 
on  books,  nor  do  they  give  the  tone  to  critical 
comments.  Our  estimate,  then,  of  the  excellence 
of  a  love-romance  is  based  upon  the  fact  that  it 
appeals  to  the  more  refined,  the  amiable,  the 
kindly,  the  loving.  It  is,  hence,  perfectly  correct 
to  say  that  the  interest  in  love  is  greater  than  in 
any  other  absorbing  passion,  because  of  its  more 
humane  character. 


122  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

Love  is  more  aesthetic,  since  its  painful  associa- 
tions are  fewer.  To  be  sure,  the  course  of  true 
love  may  not  run  smooth,  but  in  the  emotion 
itself  or  its  satisfaction  there  is  involved  no  sug- 
gestion of  pain.  If  Ajax  be  a  magnificent  war- 
rior, he  becomes  such  only  by  killing  somebody  ? 
and  we  must  sometimes  think  of  -the  men  killed. 
If  Herbert  Hollister  and  Stuart  Goldwin,  in  an 
"Ambitious  Woman,"*  win  their  hundreds  of 
thousands  in  Wall  Street,  and  command  our  ad- 
miration for  their  sagacity,  their  intuitive  and 
unerring  judgment,  we  know  that  somebody  lost ; 
and,  indeed,  the  meaning  of  that  loss  shortly  ap- 
pears, with  all  its  horrors,  in  the  case  of  the  first- 
named.  On  the  other  hand,  in  the  union  of  two 
personalities  effected  by  love  there  is,  intrinsically 
and  essentially,  nothing  but  agreeable  suggestion, 
whether  it  be  the  "  mating  of  John  and  Joan,"  or 
of  a  lord  and  lady.  It  really  is  the  flowering  of 
human  experience,  the  acme  of  the  joyful,  the 
delightful,  the  blissful,  the  beautiful.  Pain  is  ban- 
ished, and  there  is  only  the  breath  of  the  spring, 
"  fresh-blown  roses  washed  in  dew,"  "  youthful 
jollity,"  "  wreathed  smiles,"  and 

"Sport,  that  wrinkled  Care  derides."  f 
Of  love  we  think 

*  Edgar  Fawcett.  \  Milton  :  "  L' Allegro." 


EXHIBITION  OF  LOVE.  123 

"  As  of  a  fountain,  failing  never, 

On  whose  soft  marge  I  lie,  and  drink 
Delicious  draughts  of  joy  forever."  * 

Thus,  of  the  great  passions,  love  is  undoubtedly 
the  richest  in  aesthetic  qualities.  While  science 
cannot  at  present  make  this  assertion,  I  deem  it 
probable  that  all  the  aesthetic  effects  which  we 
receive  through  the  senses,  whether  they  be  the 
delights  of  music  or  of  color,  perception  by  the 
eye  generally  or  by  the  ear,  involve  a  stimulation 
of  amatory  feeling.  This  is  not  the  place  to  go 
into  a  psychological  argument  on  the  subject,  but 
the  reader  who  is  familiar  with  Darwin's  "  Descent 
of  Man  "  may  be  reminded  of  the  facts  therein 
collected  going  to  prove  that  bright  and  diversi- 
fied colors  and  also  musical  sounds  are  means  of 
sexual  attraction.  Moreover,  the  connection  of 
aesthetic  activity  with  the  play-impulse  has  already 
occupied  our  attention.  But  play  occurs  from  a 
superabundance  of  vitality;  when  the  spirits  are 
high,  and  there  is  more  vital  force  than  is  needed 
for  self-preservation.  And  it  is  in  just  this  condi- 
tion that  reproductive  activity,  mental  or  physical, 
is  the  most  pronounced.  It  is  the  excess  beyond 
what  is  required  for  the  preservation  and  develop- 
ment of  the  individual  organism.  Moreover,  the 
exercise  of  this  activity  is  always  an  end  in  itself, 
a  primary  appetitive  pleasure.  It  needs  no  object 

*  Owen  Meredith. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION, 

beyond  its  own  satisfaction.  May  it  not  be  pos- 
sible, therefore,  that  we  shall  discover  our  pro- 
ductive, creative,  artistic  working  to  be  really  a 
manifestation  of  the  forces  of  organic  reproduc- 
tion, and  our  aesthetic  joy  in  its  works  the  re- 
sponse made  to  an  appeal  addressed  to  the  same 
vital  powers  ? 

However  this  may  be,  it  is  quite  certain  that 
the  superior  interest  felt  in  the  exhibition  of  love 
both  in  life  and  in  literature  is  the  aesthetic  one. 
But  this  interest  is  of  the  different  varieties  before 
mentioned.  The  greatest  intensity  arises  from 
consideration  of  the  passion  as  such,  irrespective 
of  its  consequences.  In  this  the  French  writers 
vastly  surpass  any  others,  and  in  this  English 
novelists  are  singularly  lacking.  Such  might  be 
expected  from  national  characteristics.  So  far  as 
the  former  are  concerned,  in  the  words  of  Mr.  W. 
C.  Brownell :  *  "  Certainly  more  distinctly  and 
universally  than  anywhere  else  is  it  felt  in  France 
that  love  vincit  omnia — that  it  is,  as  Thackeray  af- 
firms, '  immeasurably  above  ambition,  more  pre- 
cious than  wealth,  more  noble  than  name/  and  that 
'  he  knows  not  life  who  knows  not  that.' "  The 
French  value  most  of  all,  and  for  its  own  sake, 
"  the  spiritual  exaltation  of  the  least  egoistic  of 
human  impulses.  Never  to  have  made  the  voy- 
age to  Cythera  is  to  have  lived  in  vain."  f  Thus, 

*  "  French  Traits  "  :  Morality.  f  (Ibid.) 


EXHIBITION  OF  LOVE. 


125 


devoted  to  a  passion,  they  develop  its  intensity 
and  seek  all  its  refinements,  whereas  the  colder 
and  calmer  natures  of  the  English  think  more  of 
the  duration  of  the  sentiment,  its  association  and 
blending  with  other  forms  of  tender  emotion  and 
with  altruistic  sympathies  generally.  It  thus  hap- 
pens with  leading  English-writing  novelists,  as 
Henry  James  remarks  :  *  "  Miss  Austen  and  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  Dickens  and  Thackeray,  Hawthorne 
and  George  Eliot,  have  all  represented  young 
people  in  love  with  each  other ;  but  no  one  of 
them  has,  to  the  best  of  our  recollection,  described 
anything  that  can  be  called  a  passion — put  it  into 
motion  before  us  and  shown  us  its  various  paces." 
Then  referring  to  George  Sand,  a  critique  upon 
whom  elicits  these  observations,  Mr.  James  goes 
on  to  say  :  "  Few  persons  would  resort  to  English 
prose  fiction  for  any  information  concerning  the 
ardent  forces  of  the  heart,  for  any  ideas  upon 
them.  It  is  George  Sand's  merit  that  she  has 
given  ideas  upon  them,  that  she  has  enlarged  the 
novel-reader's  conception  of  them  and  proved  her- 
self in  all  that  relates  to  them  an  authority.  This 
is  a  great  deal.  From  this  standpoint  Miss  Aus- 
ten, Walter  Scott,  and  Dickens  will  appear  to  have 
omitted  the  erotic  sentiment  altogether,  and 
George  Eliot  will  seem  to  have  treated  it  with 
singular  austerity.  Strangely  loveless,  seen  in  this 

*  ' '  French  Poets  and  Novelists  "  :    George  Sand. 


126  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

light,  are  those  large,  comprehensive  fictions, '  Mid- 
dlemarch '  and  '  Daniel  Deronda.'  They  seem 
to  foreign  readers,  probably,  like  vast,  cold,  com- 
modious, respectable  rooms,  through  whose  win- 
dow-panes one  sees  a  snow-covered  landscape,  and 
across  whose  acres  of  silver-lined  carpet  one  looks 
in  vain  for  a  fire-place  or  a  fire." 

Quite  so.  The  English  and  Americans  are  in- 
capable, it  would  seem,  of  dealing  with  love  as  a 
passion.  They  insist  on  the  moral  complexion. 
As  M.  Taine  suggests,*  they  always  say :  "  Be 
moral.  .  .  .  Love  is  the  hero  of  all  George 
Sand's  novels.  Married  or  not,  she  thinks  it 
beautiful,  holy,  sublime  in  itself  ;  and  she  says  so. 
Don't  believe  this,  and  if  you  believe  it,  don't  say 
it.  It  is  a  bad  example.  Love  thus  represented 
makes  marriage  a  secondary  matter.  ...  A 
novel  of  this  sort  is  a  plea  for  the  heart,  the  imag- 
ination, enthusiasm,  nature  ;  but  it  is  also  often  a 
plea  against  society  and  law ;  we  do  not  suffer 
society  and  law  to  be  touched,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly. .  .  .  George  Sand  paints  impassioned 
women  ;  paint  you  for  us  good  women.  George 
Sand  makes  us  desire  to  be  in  love ;  do  you  make 
us  desire  to  be  married."  Now,  dear  friends,  Eng- 
lish and  American,  M.  Taine  is  quite  right.  You 
may  argue  that  your  views  and  your  course  should 
be  approved.  Perhaps  ;  but  on  moral  grounds. 

*  '   Hist,  of  Eng.  Lit.,"  Book  V.,  ch.  i. 


EXHIBITION  OF  LOVE. 


127 


Follow  your  own  convictions,  if  you  please,  but 
do  not  pretend  to  any  equality  with  George  Sand, 
for  example,  in  the  sphere  which  she  occupies. 
Say  frankly  that  your  stories  are  more  moral 
and  less  freely  artistic  ;  that  they  do  not  exhibit 
love  in  any  fulness,  but  only  as  subsidiary  to 
marriage  and  moral  and  social  interests.  Then 
when  comparisons  are  made,  your  work  on  the 
whole  may  be  deemed  the  more  wholesome,  but 
as  an  exhibition  of  a  great  passion  it  is  pain- 
fully insufficient.  You  cannot  compete  ;  and  it 
will  be  wiser  to  say  so,  seeking  for  your  justifica- 
tion where  you  ought,  in  the  subordination  of  the 
aesthetic  to  the  moral  for  the  sake  of  human  wel- 
fare. 

But  in  representations  of  that  calmer  love  of 
wedded  life,  which  is  really  a  close  and  increasing 
friendship  cemented  by  many  common  interests, 
and  in  depicting  characters  in  which  love  is  always 
controlled  by  morality  and  duty,  English  and 
American  novelists  are  greatly  superior  to  their 
Gallic  brethren.  If  the  French  have  no  word  in 
their  language  for  home,  it  is  quite  true  that  they 
have  little  room  for  home  or  domesticity  in  their 
novels.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  say  that  this  is 
because  they  do  not  value  the  domestic  life  and 
the  maintenance  of  happy  families.  It  is  rather 
because  the  regular  and  normal  development  of 
love  and  marriage  or  marriage  and  wedded  love 
does  not  afford  material  for  dramatic  effect  and  is 


128  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

too  monotonous  to  arouse  interest  in  minds  which 
desire  excitement  and  novelty.  Anglo-Saxon 
natures  are  different.  They  are  satisfied  with 
what  would  seem  tame  to  a  Frenchman.  An 
ordinary  domestic  history  is  interesting  to  them, 
inasmuch  as,  in  the  first  place,  they  do  not  require 
so  much  stimulation,  and  again,  and  perhaps 
chiefly,  because  they  think  an  account  of  the 
"  happy  family "  has  an  excellent  moral  and  ed- 
ucational effect.  Hence  they  are  pleased  with 
Maria  Edgeworth's  tales  and  with  E.  P.  Roe's 
novels.  The  chief  interest  is  an  ethical  one  ;  and 
if  monotony  is  to  be  avoided,  they  prefer  to  intro- 
duce the  successful  struggles  of  a  virtuous  soul 
against  temptation,  to  show  forth  the  persistence 
of  fidelity,  the  claims  of  honor  and  of  duty  under 
trying  circumstances,  the  chastening  influence  of 
suffering,  and  the  triumph  of  the  moral  principles 
of  human  nature.  All  these  things  are  interest- 
ing to  readers  whose  minds  are  so  constituted 
that  they  can  readily  sympathize  with  the  events 
and  characters  of  the  narration  from  the  domina- 
tion in  themselves  of  the  domestic  affections  and 
the  moral  sentiments  in  general. 

Intrinsically,  the  perils  incurred  and  the  suffer- 
ings experienced  by  an  intrepid  heroine  who  is 
determined  to  follow  the  promptings  of  illicit  love 
are  just  as  interesting  as  the  struggle  of  another 
to  adhere  to  the  path  of  rectitude  against  the  de- 
mands of  overpowering  passion,  and  her  success, 


EXHIBITION  OF  LOVE.  129 

though  with  much  tribulation  and  unhappiness ; 
but  in  the  latter  case  the  sentiment  of  moral  ap- 
proval will  greatly  heighten  the  effect  of  the  story, 
in  precisely  the  same  way  as  in  actual  life  we  take 
greater  pleasure  in  a  person  who  has  exhibited  in 
the  face  of  obstacles  and  diversions  a  degree  of 
moral  stamina  which  has  made  what  we  esteem 
virtue  to  become  ascendent  in  his  mind  and  in  his 
deeds. 

The  sources  of  interest  in  the  exhibition  of  love 
in  a  story  are  thus  evident,  whether  we  behold  the 
force  and  movements  of  the  passion  or  the  various 
associations  and  resultants  as  seen  in  the  devel- 
opment of  family  and  home  life.  It  remains  for 
us  to  say  a  word  respecting  the  nature  of  the  inter- 
est aroused  by  minute  and  extreme  descriptions  of 
the  course  of  erotic  appetite.  We  cannot  disguise 
from  ourselves  the  fact  that  such  interest  is  chiefly 
a  fascination  which  involves  the  excitation  of 
sexual  appetite.  But  one  thing  must  not  be  lost 
sight  of.  The  erotic  passion  is  not  constant  and 
universal  throughout  human  life,  and  where  it  is 
wanting,  there  is  frequently  disgust  at  its  sug- 
gestion. In  fact,  it  may  be  said  that  the  large 
majority  of  people  over  forty  would  derive  no 
satisfaction  from  reading  distinctively  erotic  lit- 
erature. It  is  tedious  and  offensive.  The  wit- 
nessing of  amatory  familiarities  in  real  life  is 
not  agreeable,  nor  is  their  representation  in  a 
story.  On  the  contrary,  it  is,  esteemed  indecent 
9 


130  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

and  even  filthy,  though  to  a  person  in  the  hey-day 
of  youth  the  idea  of  uncleanliness  in  such  associa- 
tions may  be  absolutely  wanting  and  itself  in- 
decent. From  these  facts  arises  that  singular 
contradiction  of  tastes,  by  which  we  find  erotic 
stories  of  absorbing  interest  to  some  and  pleasing 
to  their  minds,  while  hateful  to  others  and  unspar- 
ingly condemned  by  them.  At  all  events,  it  is 
evident  that  such  tales  or  such  episodes  cannot 
be  universally  interesting,  quite  apart  from  moral 
considerations.  They  must  appeal  to  a  limited 
class  of  readers,  with  the  risk  of  great  antipathy 
from  those  who  do  not  enjoy  reading  them. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   EXHIBITION   OF   SOCIAL   LIFE. 

THE  three  chapters  last  preceding  make  clear 
to  us  that  the  objects  of  interest  in  a  story  are 
simply  the  objects  of  interest  in  human  life  itself. 
The  developments  of  individual  character  in  ac- 
tion, the  putting  forth  of  strength  positively  or 
in  resistance,  the  movement  of  vitality  in  achieve- 
ment, power  in  some  form  or  other — these  are  the 
things  that  detain  our  attention,  whether  in  the 
real  world  or  that  of  fiction.  But  no  man  is  great 
in  isolation.  Whatever  he  accomplishes,  bears 
relation  to  his  fellows.  In  considering  him,  we 
also  consider  his  environment,  and  whatever  inter- 
est we  take  in  his  career  requires  an  interest  in  his 
surroundings.  This  involves  some  account  of  the 
general  social  movement ;  of  the  ideas,  the  condi- 
tions, the  habits  that  dominate  the  social  world. 
The  novelist  cannot  avoid  making  a  "  milieu" 
an  "entourage"  for  his  characters,  and  it  often 
occurs  that  the  characters  themselves  are  made 
secondary  to  and  illustrative  of  particular  social 
conditions,  which  it  is  the  author's  chief  aim  to 
exhibit. 


132  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

The  decline  of  romantic  and  heroic  literature  is 
very  obvious.  For  it  has  been  substituted,  in 
prose  fiction,  by  novels  dealing  with  ordinary  social 
life,  with  "  manners,"  with  analysis  of  character, 
and  with  the  study  of  motives.  The  reason  for 
this  change  is  the  increasing  predominance  of  the 
industrial  spirit  over  the  militant  in  governing 
human  life  in  general.  There  is  no  longer  a  career 
for  the  mailed  knight  who  goes  forth  with  his 
sword  and  lance  in  search  of  adventures.  His 
courage  and  heroism  would  only  land  him  in  the 
penitentiary.  The  ideals  which  people  form  of 
things  possible  to  be  done  are  those  conditioned 
by  a  peaceful  industrial  civilization,  in  which  skill 
supersedes  brute  force,  and  virtue  is  rectitude 
rather  than  the  soldier's  valor.  The  objects  which 
interest  the  mind  are  determined  accordingly,  and 
the  novel-reader  demands  something  akin  to  his 
own  occupations  and  agreeable  to  his  prevailing 
sympathies.  He  wants  to  see  portrayed  the 
people  of  his  own  day  and  generation,  with  whom 
he  is  at  home,  and  who  suggest  something  to  his 
mind.  By  such  only  is  he  aroused,  edified,  or  im- 
proved. Among  these  is  tragedy  enough  and 
comedy  enough,  virtue  and  vice  sufficient  for  all 
requirements.  They  are  real  to  him  ;  he  can  un- 
derstand them,  and  they  assimilate  with  his  own 
thought  and  feeling.  They  are  more  serviceable 
for  all  purposes  which  make  the  novel  of  value. 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  studies  of  society 


EXHIBITION  OF  SOCIAL  LIFE.  133 

as  it  is  afford  in  themselves  any  better  oppor- 
tunities for  aesthetic  construction  than  do  ro- 
mances, so  called.  A  fairy-tale  may  be  deliciously 
beautiful — perfect  as  a  work  of  art.  Fouqu6's 
"  Undine  "  is  a  most  charming  production.  Hans 
Christian  Andersen's  stories  are  thoroughly  artis- 
tic. When  we  consider  that  the  world  of  imagina- 
tion is  the  realm  of  creative  art,  which  is,  after  all, 
the  highest ;  and  that  poetry,  which  is  full  of  im- 
aginative creations,  is  addressed  to  the  aesthetic 
sense  most  conspicuously  of  all  forms  of  literature 
— we  shall  see  that  the  romance  may  be  a  work  of 
very  high  artistic  quality.  But  still  there  is  the 
fact  upon  which  we  commented  in  discussing  real- 
ism in  Chapter  VI.  One  sign  of  a  great  artist  is 
his  ability  to  glorify  the  commonplace  and  make 
us  see  beauty  in  ordinary  things.  A  genius  cannot 
paint  a  tree  without  revealing  himself,  and  if  we 
have  the  eye  to  see  we  shall  recognize  him,  and 
be  delighted  with  him.  A  sheep  is  not  a  particu- 
larly interesting  animal ;  but  if  Verbockhoven  has 
painted  one,  we  stop  and  look  at  the  picture.  So 
the  novelist  may  present  scenes  of  familiar  life 
with  such  consummate  skill  that  we  cannot  pre- 
vent the  holding  of  our  attention,  even  when  we 
do  not  expect  to  be  entertained.  Turg6nieff  is 
a  writer  who  characteristically  does  this.  "  He 
makes  realism  poetic."*  What  is  there  especially 

*  E.  M.  de  Vogue. 


134 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


uncommon  about  a  man,  whose  unfaithful  wife 
is  separated  from  him,  falling  in  love  with  a  young 
girl  in  whose  family  he  is  a  frequent  visitor? 
Nor  does  it  require  much  ingenuity  for  the  author 
to  supply  a  false  report  of  the  death  of  the  wife, 
and  then,  after  the  lovers  had  declared  themselves, 
bring  the  wife  back  to  shatter  their  hopes  and 
blight  their  lives.  This  is  the  story  of  "  Liza," 
which  in  the  hands  of  some  writers  would  be  dull 
and  stupid,  but  as  told  by  the  great  Russian,  is 
finished,  compact,  consistent,  vivid,  attractive,  and 
thoroughly  interesting.  It  is  such  artistic  power 
that  gives  popularity  to  the  works  of  writers  like 
Mr.  Howells,  of  whom  Col.  T.  W.  Higginson  says  : 
"  His  first  literary  principle  has  been  to  look  away 
from  great  passions,  and  rather  to  elevate  the  com- 
monplace by  minute  touches."  *  So  it  is  said  of 
George  Eliot  that  "  she  made  ordinary  people 
interesting."  f  Indeed,  the  ability  to  do  these 
things  has  been  urgently  claimed  as  one  of  the 
great  artistic  merits  of  the  realistic  method.  This 
is  the  view  of  Mr.  George  Parsons  Lathrop,  in  a 
magazine  article  :  ^  "  Realism  sets  itself  at  work 
to  consider  characters  and  events  which  are  appar- 
ently the  most  ordinary  and  uninteresting  in  order 
to  extract  from  these  their  full  value  and  mean- 
ing. It  would  apprehend  in  all  particulars  the 


*  ' '  Short  Studies."  f  Bayard  Tuckerman. 

\  Atlantic  Monthly,  1874. 


EXHIBITION  OF  SOCIAL  LIFE. 


135 


connection  between  the  familiar  and  the  extraor- 
dinary, and  the  seen  and  the  unseen  of  human 
nature.  Beneath  the  deceptive  cloak  of  outwardly 
uneventful  days  it  detects  and  endeavors  to  trace 
the  outlines  of  the  spirits  that  are  hidden  there ; 
to  measure  the  changes  in  their  growth,  to  watch 
the  symptoms  of  moral  decay  or  regeneration ;  to 
fathom  their  histories  of  passionate  or  intellectual 
problems.  In  short,  realism  reveals.  Where  we 
thought  nothing  worthy  of  notice,  it  shows  every- 
thing to  be  rife  with  significance." 

I  should  certainly  decline  to  award  to  "  realism  " 
the  sole  credit  for  "  revealing  "  in  the  sense  of  the 
word  just  employed.  As  I  have  endeavored  to 
show,  the  unrestricted  and  unqualified  use  of  the 
naturalistic  method  dulls  that  aesthetic  perception 
which  is  necessary  for  arriving  at  the  soul  of  things. 
Something  more  is  needed.  Mr.  Lathrop  really 
concedes  this,  for  immediately  after  the  above 
passage  he  makes  the  important  statement :  "  It 
will  easily  be  seen,  therefore,  that  realism  calls 
upon  imagination  to  exercise  its  highest  function." 
When  realism  does  this,  it  is  a  good  thing ;  but  its 
tendencies  are  not  always  that  way.  There  is  no 
use,  however,  in  quarrelling  about  words.  It  is 
certain,  at  all  events,  that  one  of  the  very  highest 
achievements  of  art  is  to  invest  the  apparently 
uninteresting  with  an  interest  which  to  our  minds 
makes  it  cease  to  be  commonplace,  and  stand  out 
with  a  distinctness  and  individuality  that  give  it 


136  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

a  permanent  life.  And  however  necessary  to  the 
result  anatomical  study  may  be,  close  inspection 
of  nature  as  she  is,  actually  and  ordinarily,  it  is 
creative  genius  that  finally  accomplishes  the  work. 

With  the  progress  of  the  industrial  spirit  the 
scientific  mind  has  become  more  developed  and 
scientific  methods  are  in  greater  demand  for  every- 
thing. Sociological  and  psychological  analyses  ex- 
cite attention,  as  they  would  not  if  scientific  ob- 
servation were  not  a  common  habit.  Thus,  novels 
of  "  experiment,"  as  M.  Zola  calls  them,  are  read 
and  become  popular,  whereas  under  the  condi- 
tions of  life  when  romanticism  was  in  vogue  they 
would  not  have  been  endured.  The  latter,  as 
Mr.  Howells  observes,  "  was  the  expression  of  a 
world  mood."  "  It  grew  naturally  out  of  political, 
social,  and  economical  conditions."  "  It  was  a  de- 
velopment of  civilization."  In  like  manner,  the 
present  age  has  produced  literature  after  its  own 
kind.  Knowledge  of  things  as  they  are  is  de- 
manded, and  thorough  knowledge.  With  the  in- 
crease of  learning  and  the  higher  training  of  indi- 
viduals to  use  their  own  faculties,  people  demand 
also  that  better  artistic  work  be  done,  and  when 
they  see  such  work  they  know  it. 

In  fine,  the  prevalence  and  success  of  the  novels 
of  social  life  furnish  but  another  illustration  of 
the  truth  that  it  is  life  which  makes  literature,  and 
that  the  type  of  fiction  of  any  age  is  determined 
by  the  state  of  thought  and  civilization  therein. 


EXHIBITION  OF  SOCIAL  LIFE. 


137 


But  we  must  not  forget  that  what  De  Quincey  calls 
the  "  literature  of  power  "  is  that  which  makes  its 
appeal  to  universal  human  experience, 'and  that 
if  "  the  representation  of  social  reality  "  be  at  pres- 
ent "  the  proper  business  of  the  novel,"  it  is  still 
important,  as  D.  Masson  says,  that  in  such  repre- 
sentation the  spirit  be  "  that  of  the  far-surveying 
and  the  sublime." 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  COMIC   OR   LUDICROUS. 

OUR  study  thus  far  has  indicated  that  in  order 
to  hold  the  attention  upon  a  work  of  fiction  some 
sort  of  sympathetic  interest  must  be  aroused,  or 
else  a  paralyzing  effect  be  produced  which  in- 
hibits escape.  This  last  situation  cannot  endure 
very  long,  because  a  narration  appealing  to  the 
imagination  can  rarely  excite  unpleasant  emotions 
powerful  enough  to  prevent  the  natural  move- 
ments to  get  rid  of  the  object  producing  them, 
and  because  an  accumulation  of  horrors  tends  to 
monotony,  which  is  itself  detrimental  to  interest. 
Even  where  there  is  sympathy  aroused,  no  little 
difficulty  is  experienced  from  the  danger  of  monot- 
ony. We  have  remarked  how  skilful  writers  do 
not  play  long  upon  one  emotional  chord,  but  at- 
tain their  best  effects  by  exciting  a  variety  of  feel- 
ings. Where  the  attention  is  concentrated  suffi- 
ciently to  create  interest  a  considerable  quantity 
of  emotion  exists,  the  fulness  of  which  will  cause 
uneasiness  or  positive  pain.  This  must  be  dis- 
posed of  in  some  way. 

Transferring    the    attention     to    some    object 


COMIC  OR  LUDICROUS. 


139 


strongly  contrasted  with  the  former  one  will  ac- 
complish this  result  in  many  cases  ;  in  order,  how- 
ever, to  effect  the  transfer,  the  new  object  must 
possess  the  power  of  concentrating  a  considerable 
amount  of  feeling  upon  itself.  But  merely  chang- 
ing the  object  while  still  exciting  and  massing 
feeling  will  not  furnish  the  relief  needed.  The 
very  process  of  changing  becomes  monotonous 
and  tiresome.  A  complete  dissipation  of  aroused 
and  concentrated  emotion  is  required,  a  full  relax- 
ation from  the  strain  of  attention.  This  is  most 
perfectly  secured  by  laughter  in  its  various  de- 
grees. 

There  is  much  yet  to  be  explained  in  the  phe- 
nomenon of  laughter.  Sydney  Smith  says  that 
mirth  is  due  to  the  discovery  of  a  congruity  in  a 
seeming  incongruity,  or  the  reverse.  The  seeing 
of  a  joke  is  analogous  to  the  pleasant  mental 
feeling  experienced  in  discovering  something 
quite  new,  or  in  suddenly  coming  to  understand 
something  not  known  before.  But  in  case  of  the 
joke  the  discovery  comes  as  a  surprise,  some- 
thing achieved  without  toil,  and  the  pleasurable 
effect  is  thereby  much  heightened.  In  relation  to 
the  need  of  a  wooden  pavement  before  St.  Paul's, 
Sydney  Smith  remarked  :  "  If  the  Dean  and  the 
Chapter  would  only  lay  their  heads  together  the 
thing  would  be  done."  Here  the  "  laugh  comes 
in  "  when  the  mind  perceives  a  congruity  in  the 
midst  of  extremely  incongruous  things.  It  makes 


140         .        PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

no  difference  whether  the  implication  of  wooden- 
headedness,  or  stupidity,  as  against  the  Dean  and 
the  Chapter,  be  true  or  not.  The  striking  out  of 
a  resemblance  unexpectedly  is  quite  enough  to 
secure  the  effect  of  mirth. 

This  example  illustrates  the  existence  of  an- 
other element  in  the  production  of  mirth,  which  is 
pointed  out  by  Dr.  Bain,  and  consists  in  the  deg- 
radation of  some  person  or  thing  ordinarily  pos- 
sessing dignity.  The  same  idea  is  contained  in 
Hobbes's  theory  that  "  laughter  is  a  sudden  glory 
arising  from  sudden  conception  of  some  eminency 
in  ourselves  by  comparison  with  the  infirmity  of 
others,  or  with  our  own  formerly."  In  the  exam- 
ple last  cited  laughter  arises  from  the  exposure  of 
the  inferiority  of  those  who  are  ordinarily  held  in 
solemn  reverence.  We  enjoy  having  them  "  taken 
down  a  peg."  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  asserts  that 
the  incongruity  perceived  in  the  ludicrous  is  al- 
ways a  descending,  never  an  ascending,  incongru- 
ity. 

"  What  should  be  great  you  turn  to  farce."  * 
Mr.  Spencer,  however,  does  not  lay  stress  on  the 
fact  of  exultation  over  degradation  so  much  as  on 
the  circumstance  of  passing  from  something  great 
to  something  small.  It  would  seem,  though,  that 
the  state  of  mind  described  by  Hobbes,  and  more 
particularly  by  Dr.  Bain,  is  generally  found  pres- 

*  Prior. 


COMIC  OR  LUDICROUS. 


141 


ent  when  we  are  moved  to  laughter.  In  the 
savage  mind  laughter  is  the  exultation  of  victory 
or  revenge.  The  warrior's  joy  over  the  discom- 
fited foe  is  his  mirth.  So,  more  civilized  men  of 
coarse  instincts  are  convulsed  over  the  misadven- 
tures of  any  one  witnessed  in  horse-play  or  prac- 
tical jokes.  The  degrading  situations  of  a  clown 
in  the  circus  afford  infinite  amusement  to  such  a 
person.  He  finds  his  comedy  in  buffoonery  and 
laughs  when  some  one  is  put  to  a  disadvantage. 

If  we  look  into  the  matter  closely  we  shall  find 
the  same  thing  where,  perhaps,  we  should  not  ex- 
pect to  find  it,  namely,  in  the  geniality  and  kind- 
liness of  humor.  As  the  sympathetic  feelings  are 
developed  in  human  nature  we  are  not  so  prone 
to  laugh  at  the  misfortunes  of  others.  A  strong 
feeling  of  pity  will  defeat  laughter.  If  we  see  a 
man  by  accident  pitched  head  over  heels  into  the 
water  the  ridiculousness  of  the  situation  does  not 
appear  till  it  is  apparent  that  he  is  not  hurt. 
Then,  when  he  comes  out,  puffing  and  blowing, 
we  laugh.  Conscious  of  our  power  to  help  him, 
seeing  that  he  is  not  seriously  injured,  we  still 
enjoy  observing  that  he  is  uncomfortable.  In  a 
more  refined  degree,  the  enjoyment  of  humor 
consists  in  this  modified  love  of  humiliating  some 
one,  wherein,  as  Dr.  Bain  says,  "  the  indignity  is 
disguised  and,  as  it  were,  oiled  by  some  kindly 
infusion  such  as  would  not  consist  with  the  un. 
mitigated  glee  of  triumphant  superiority."  "  Sly 


142"  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

digs,"  remote,  disguised  attacks,  subtle  suggestions 
of  disparagement,  wherein  lies  no  real  animosity, 
gratify  at  once  the  natural  predatory  inclinations 
and  comport  with  the  superior  control  of  the  sym- 
pathetic sentiments. 

The  fact  that  different  things  are  comical  to 
different  people  is  readily  explained  from  what 
has  gone  before.  It  depends  upon  a  man's  mental 
constitution  whether  or  not  he  will  laugh.  A 
writer  in  the  Spectator  observes  that  because 
a  refined  man  will  not  laugh  at  buffoonery,  but 
will  at  a  finely  wrought  epigram  of  Sydney  Smith, 
it  does  not  follow  that  he  sees  no  joke  in  the 
former,  but  only  a  very  little  joke,  for  which  he 
does  not  care,  because  he  finds  others  so  much 
better.  It  is  the  difference  between  vin  ordinaire 
and  Chateau  Lafitte. 

The  circumstances,  however,  have  much  to  do 
with  laughter.  When  they  are  such  as  to  involve 
constraint  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous  is  aroused 
by  more  insignificant  things.  A  dog  trotting  up 
the  aisle  in  the  midst  of  a  church  service  excites 
merriment  because  of  the  very  fact  that  laughter 
is  out  of  place  and  propriety  demands  that  it 
shall  not  be  indulged.  In  a  court  of  justice  a 
poor  joke  will  go  farther  and  have  more  effect 
than  in  general  conversation,  for  the  reason  that 
the  ordinary  severity  and  solemnity  of  the  pro- 
ceedings tire  the  participants  or  spectators  and 
they  are  glad  of  the  slightest  relief.  As  Dr. 


COMIC  OR  LUDICROUS. 


143 


Bain  says :  "  The  mirthful  is  the  aspect  of  ease, 
freedom,  abandon,  and  animal  spirits.  The  seri- 
ous is  constituted  by  labor,  difficulty,  and  the 
necessities  of  our  position.  .  .  .  It  is  always 
a  gratifying  deliverance  to  pass  from  the  severe 
to  the  easy  side  of  affairs,  and  the  comic  conjunc- 
tion is  one  form  of  the  transition."  * 

Whatever  be  the  varying  causes  of  laughter,  or 
the  feelings  which  constitute  a  sense  of  the  ludi- 
crous, the  relief  is  always  relief  from  a  mental 
tension.  There  is  a  dissipation  of  concentrated 
energy  without  effort,  a  restoration  of  equilibrium 
which  is  comfortable  and  exhilarating.  Mr.  Spen- 
cer calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  discharge 
of  surplus  feeling  which  results  from  the  percep- 
tion of  a  "  descending  incongruity"  pervades  the 
nervous  system  of  the  viscera,  stimulating  the 
internal  organs  as  well  as  the  muscles,  the  heart 
and  the  stomach  coming  in  for  a  good  part  of  the 
overflow.  It  thus  is  true  that  mirth  assists  diges- 
tion, and  the  man  of  jollity  is  not  a  dyspeptic. f 
No  doubt  this  is  the  case  within  limitations.  The 
sparkle  of  wit,  the  pleasantry  of  humor,  the  in- 
dulgence in  the  comic,  produce  a  pleasurable  state 
of  emotion  highly  desirable  to  cultivate. 

As  in  life,  so  in  fictitious  literature,  represen- 
tative of  life.  A  story  can  be  written  which 


*  "  Emotions  and  Will,"  ch.  xiv. 
f  "  Physiology  of  Laughter." 


144 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


will  interest,  even  if  the  comic  or  ludicrous  do 
not  appear.  But,  unless  it  be  a  short  story,  the 
absence  generally  will  be  felt.  Like  love,  laughter 
is  a  universal  experience,  occurring  all  the  time 
and  in  a  great  variety  of  situations.  With  many 
characters  moving  through  different  scenes  there 
must  be  sometimes  and  somewhere  mirth-provok- 
ing conditions  and  circumstances.  To  leave  out 
and  ignore  such  indicates  a  defect  in  artistic  skill. 
The  drama  of  life  represented  is  imperfect.  In 
addition  to  this,  the  failure  of  interest  from  monot- 
ony is  much  more  apt  to  occur  where  the  amus- 
ing is  wanting.  Thus  the  writer  who  refuses  to 
use  the  ludicrous  as  a  solvent  for  the  concentrated 
intensity  of  emotion  he  has  developed  through  his 
narration  will  find  that  presently  he  cannot  arouse 
powerful  emotion  at  all,  and  his  attempts  will 
only  result  in  boring  and  fatiguing  instead  of 
interesting  his  readers.  The  exhibition  of  the 
comic  tends  to  the  conservation  of  interest  by 
relieving  monotony  and  removing  the  painful 
strain  of  sympathetic  attention. 

It  should  be  observed,  though,  that  these  ben- 
eficial effects  may  be  entirely  nullified  by  too  con- 
tinuous or  frequent  attempts  to  introduce  the 
ludicrous  into  a  story.  Jokes,  or  ridiculous  situa- 
tions, get  to  be  as  tiresome  as  too  serious  depic- 
tions. Comic  books,  wholly  given  up  to  laughter 
excitation,  are  generally  very  tedious.  The  pro- 
fessional humorist  is  apt  to  become  a  bore  and  a 


COMIC  OR  LUDICROUS.  145 

nuisance.  To  sustain  interest  variety  in  the  men- 
tal movement  is  required,  and  even  if  a  writer 
be  gifted  with  extraordinary  brilliancy  in  wit  or 
humor,  it  is  always  well  for  him  not  to  be  as 
funny  as  he  can,  and  not  to  keep  up  his  fun  too 
long. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  GENERAL  SUBJECT  REVIEWED. 

IT  may  now  be  expedient  to  consider  the  whole 
problem  presented  in  connection  with  the  general 
theme,  to  summarize  the  results  attained,  and  to 
ascertain  what  questions  remain  to  be  asked  and 
answered,  as  well  as  to  determine  what  special 
branches  of  the  subject  require  further  treatment. 

At  the  outset  we  limited  the  term  Fiction  to 
prose  composition  in  the  form  of  the  story,  tale, 
or  novel ;  such  limitation,  however,  being  for  the 
purposes  of  this  essay  and  in  accordance  with 
usage,  although  a  broader  application  of  the  word 
may  be  quite  legitimate.  We  found  our  starting- 
point  in  the  fact  that  people  read  fiction.  If 
novels  were  not  read  and  readable  we  should  not 
have  them.  The  first  general  query  then  presented 
itself:  What  is  it  in  a  story  which  interests  the 
reader  and  holds  his  attention  ?  In  answer  to 
this  we  found  that  interest  is  only  another  name 
for  pleasure  derived  from  the  reading,  that  the 
source  of  such  pleasure  may  be  aesthetic,  scientific, 
or  moral,  and  that  the  three  may  contribute  to 
the  general  effect  in  varying  proportions.  We 


GENERAL   SUBJECT  REVIEWED.  147 

may  behold  something  beautiful,  we  may  acquire 
knowledge,  and  we  may  have  our  moral  sentiments 
and  our  conduct  beneficially  affected  by  the  peru- 
sal of  a  book  of  fiction.  For  any  one  or  all  of 
these  reasons  we  may  be  pleased  with  it. 

We  further  noted  that  fiction  is  a  representa- 
tion of  human  experience,  or  that  of  beings  with 
like  faculties  to  those  of  men.  The  question  then 
arose :  Is  not  that  the  most  interesting  and  the 
most  perfect  work  which  most  exactly  and  ac- 
curately reproduces  a  section  of  such  experience 
as  it  actually  occurs?  The  answer  to  this  query 
we  found  to  cover  a  wide  range  of  discussion. 
Among  other  things,  we  saw  that  experience  itself 
involves  a  selective  process,  combining  details  into 
one  whole  in  which  the  general  impression  pre- 
vails and  to  which  the  particulars  are  subordinated. 
Hence  in  the  story,  assembling  details  without 
careful  attention  to  the  general  effect  and  plan  is 
fatal  to  interest,  except  it  be  a  scientific  one.  If 
we  cater  to  this  kind  and  foster  it,  we  presently 
find  ourselves  leaving  behind  the  realm  of  art  and 
passing  into  that  of  science.  Under  the  sway  of 
the  latter  the  tendency  must  be  to  eliminate  ficti- 
tious literature.  Exact  truth  is  the  ideal,  and  the 
story  is  only  an  imperfect  mode  of  expression, 
suited  to  those  minds  which  are  not  able  to  assimi- 
late bald  scientific  statements.  It  is  only  the  ad- 
ministration of  wholesome  medicine  by  a  sugar- 
coated  pill.  As  people  grow  better  educated,  the 


1 48  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

tale  or  romance  ought  to  disappear.  Art  becomes 
extinguished  as  no  longer  necessary. 

If  we  desire  to  preserve  and  develop  the  aes- 
thetic interests,  then,  and  the  moral  as  well,  the 
selective  activities  must  be  brought  into  play.  If 
we  represent  experience,  accuracy  and  exactness 
are  necessary,  but  a  skill  in  combination  and  con- 
struction is  just  as  important  as  correct  copying 
of  nature.  There  must  be  an  ideal  to  direct  the 
work.  Under  this  direction  choice  is  made  of  the 
things  to  be  reproduced,  and  the  hand  is  guided 
in  accomplishing  the  reproduction.  The  result  is 
a  whole  which  is  true  to  nature  in  its  details,  but 
in  which  those  details  have  been  gathered,  put  to- 
gether, and  connected  in  an  organic  relation  by  a 
creative  power. 

We  thus  saw  that  "  naturalism,"  if  adopted  as 
the  governing  theory  of  novelistic  construction, 
would  impose  a  limitation  upon  such  construction 
quite  inadmissible — a  limitation  which  literature 
never  has  endured  and  never  will  submit  to,  and 
which  would  be  destructive  of  this  particular  form 
of  literary  production.  Its  use  is  disciplinary  and 
preparatory,  and,  as  such,  of  great  value.  The 
artist  must  be  able  to  reproduce  nature  accurately, 
and  hence  must  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
nature's  anatomy.  He  must  be  trained,  he  must 
learn  how  to  use  his  eye  and  his  hand,  and,  if 
necessary,  be  a  long  while  learning.  But  when  he 
has  learned,  his  work  is  not  done  ;  the  field  is  only 


GENERAL   SUBJECT  REVIEWED.  149 

just  opened  to  him.  Nor  must  he  allow  himself  to 
think  that  the  memoranda  of  his  dissections  are 
to  be  the  final  product  of  his  energy. 

Inasmuch  as  conclusions  respecting  "  realism," 
or  "naturalism,"  and  "idealism,"  or  "romanti- 
cism," cannot  furnish  a  full  explanation  of  interest 
in  a  story,  and  since  there  must  always  be  a  selec- 
tion of  objects  of  interest  from  a  great  number  of 
uninteresting  things  in  experience,  we  found  it 
necessary  to  pursue  the  inquiry  further  as  to  what 
does  interest  a  reader.  We  learned  that  whatever 
interests  people  in  real  life  holds  their  attention 
in  fiction.  An  exhibition  of  power  or  force  in  ac- 
tion or  resistance,  especially  human  energy,  will 
command  that  attention.  Conflict  and  triumph, 
achievements  under  difficulties,  suffering  and  con- 
duct under  pain,  love  and  its  manifestations,  fur- 
nish material  for  the  story-teller  to  construct  an 
interesting  narrative.  Individual  development  in 
its  environment,  and  social  development  through 
the  action  and  reaction  of  its  controlling  forces, 
both  supply  legitimate  subjects  for  the  novelist's 
art.  Beyond  this  the  special  tastes  of  the  reader 
will  determine  whether  or  not  he  be  pleased.  War 
and  cruelty  will  delight  some,  peace  and  kindliness 
others.  Political  movements  will  commend  them- 
selves to  certain  readers,  novels  of  "  manners " 
and  social  movements  will  gratify  a  different  class. 
Since  the  things  of  contemporaneous  interest 
principally  occupy  men's  minds,  moulding  their 


150 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


thoughts  and  governing  their  feelings,  that  story 
will  have  the  most  readers  which  embodies  and 
reproduces  some  phase  of  current  life.  For  like 
reasons,  portraitures  of  universal  traits  in  human 
character  attract  and  hold  the  attention.  And  if 
there  be  in  the  minds  of  people  generally  an  under- 
lying thought  or  belief  struggling  for  expression, 
the  novelist  who  understands  and  brings  it  out  is 
sure  of  success. 

Once  more,  we  observed  that  relaxation  of  the 
strain  of  attention  was  important  to  a  sustained 
interest,  and  that  while  change  of  scenes  and 
variety  of  action  would  often  accomplish  a  good 
deal  in  this  direction,  it  was  highly  essential  now 
and  then  to  dissipate  more  thoroughly  the  sympa- 
thetic emotion  aroused  and  concentrated  by  the 
narrative.  Therefore,  the  excitation  of  laughter 
by  the  representation  of  comic  or  ludicrous  situa- 
tions, or  by  suggestions  of  them,  is  a  most  valu- 
able means  of  preventing  fatigue  in  the  reading  of 
a  story  and  of  freshening  the  reader's  pleasure  in 
its  development.  Wit  and  humor  thus  become 
of  great  consequence  in  the  art  of  the  novelist. 

Now  that  we  have  investigated  the  sources  of 
interest  in  a  fictitious  literary  construction,  and 
shown  (according  to  our  lights)  what  makes  a  story 
interesting,  the  further  question  arises :  Should 
everything  that  is  interesting  to  anybody  be  made 
the  subject  of  the  constructive  writer's  art  ?  This 
is  not  a  question  of  "  naturalism  "  or  "  romanti- 


GENERAL   SUBJECT  REVIEWED.  151 

cism,"  though  sometimes  it  is  esteemed  to  be  so. 
It  is  a  question  of  the  relative  importance  of  the 
aesthetic,  the  scientific,  and  the  moral  elements 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  may  enter  into  the  inter- 
est of  a  work  of  fiction.  Antagonisms  may  here 
arise  which  affect  very  decidedly  the  whole  theory 
of  artistic  construction.  That  which  is  aesthetic- 
ally pleasing  may  be  immoral ;  that  which  is  un- 
scientific may  be  artistic ;  that  which  is  moral  may 
be  repulsive  as  aesthetically  considered.  Again, 
the  minds  of  different  persons  are  so  differently 
constituted  that  what  seems  moral  to  one  may 
appear  immoral  to  another ;  what  gives  aesthetic 
pleasure  here  may  fail  to  do  so  there.  If  on  any 
of  the  grounds  specified  a  story  is  interesting  to 
one,  but  is  reprobated  by  another,  is  there  any 
proper  restriction  of  the  exercise  of  creative  skill 
in  the  interest  of  the  community,  and,  if  so,  to 
what  extent  and  in  what  cases  ? 

It  will  readily  be  seen  that  we  have  presented 
the  most  serious  problem  connected  with  fiction 
in  literature.  A  conflict  is  always  raging  over 
this  question  of  the  relations  of  the  aesthetic  and 
moral.  Works  of  art  are  all  the  time  suffering  con- 
demnation on  account  of  their  alleged  immorality. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  a  story  be  written  to  subserve 
a  moral  purpose  it  is  apt  to  be  criticised  as  stupid 
and  inartistic.  Opposite  judgments  of  books  are 
formed  by  different  people  according  as  they  fol- 
low aesthetic  or  moral  standards.  It  is  highly  im- 


!52  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

portant  that  he  who  wishes  to  become  a  story, 
writer  should  understand  exactly  what  he  is  about 
when  he  forms  the  plan  of  his  tale  ;  shall  appreci- 
ate how  far  he  is  appealing  to  each  of  the  three 
great  interests  in  a  work  of  fiction,  and  how  far  he 
may  disregard  one  for  the  sake  of  the  other.  It 
is  also  desirable  for  the  reader,  in  order  to  form  a 
just  estimate  of  a  book,  to  know  what  canons  may 
be  laid  down  by  which  properly  to  measure  its 
value.  We  shall,  therefore,  devote  ourselves  now 
to  a  consideration  of  the  questions  just  suggested. 
After  answering  them  as  well  as  we  may  be  able, 
we  shall  be  in  a  position  to  give  such  final  conclu- 
sions respecting  both  the  construction  and  the 
criticism  of  a  work  of  fiction  as  may  be  needed  to 
complete  this  essay. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

ART,    MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE. 

IT  is  indispensable  to  a  clear  comprehension  of 
the  theory  of  art  that  we  keep  before  us  the  truth, 
already  fully  developed  in  earlier  pages,  that  es- 
sentially all  art  is  creation.  This  is  as  true  of 
what  is  termed  reproductive  or  imitative  art  as  it 
is  of  any  other.  A  work  of  art  is  a  product  of  the 
constructive  power  of  the  human  mind,  introduced 
as  a  new  thing  into  the  objective  world.  As  such 
it  is  something  done  in  realization  of  an  ideal.  In 
appreciating  the  work  it  is  necessary  for  the  ob- 
server to  understand  to  some  degree  the  ideal. 
He  must  be  able  to  see  what  the  artist  had  in 
mind  in  order  to  judge  of  the  resultant  product. 
If,  then,  it  be  well  done,  according  to  an  ideal  ap- 
prehended by  the  criticising  mind,  there  is  cer- 
tainly aroused  an  aesthetic  pleasure,  greater  or  less 
according  to  the  degree  of  excellence.  This  last 
may  depend  upon  a  variety  of  causes,  in  all  of 
which,  however,  the  difficulty  of  the  achievement 
is  an  important  element.  That  which  the  most  of 
men  cannot  do  elicits  admiration ;  much  more 
that  which  artists  generally  are  unable  to  achieve. 


154 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


The  reader  will  remember  the  remark  of  Arre'at, 
before  quoted,  to  the  effect  that  the  true  aesthetic 
idea  in  work  is  that  of  difficulty  conquered,  and 
which  seems  to  have  been  conquered  freely,  or  for 
the  sake  of  the  conquest.  Wherever  this  appears 
an  aesthetic  emotion  is  produced,  independently  of 
the  subject-matter  of  the  work  itself.  We  say : 
Here  is  a  fine  thing,  showing  great  power  and 
genius. 

It  is  quite  true,  therefore,  that  an  artistic  crea- 
tion may  give  pleasure  in  itself,  because  it  is 
aesthetic,  irrespective  of  any  scientific  or  moral 
value.  In  order,  however,  to  get  at  the  bottom  of 
the  matter,  the  question  must  be  asked  :  What  is 
the  aesthetic  pleasure?  Is  it  in  itself  good  or  not? 
This  last  question  we  answered  in  the  affirmative 
in  Chapter  V.,  and  in  the  same  connection  made 
whatever  investigation  we  were  able  into  the 
nature  of  the  pleasure  we  term  aesthetic.  In  the 
light  of  what  we  found  we  must  be  prepared  to 
admit  that  a  work  of  art,  aesthetically  pleasing, 
justifies  its  own  existence  ;  and  since  it  exists  for 
all,  not  perishing  with  the  using,  "a  joy  forever," 
it  has  a  social  and  thus  a  moral  value,  because  it  is 
aesthetic,  and  so  far  forth  as  it  is  so. 

If  this  were  all  that  is  to  be  said  the  solution 
of  the  problem  would  be  easy.  In  reality  it  is 
much  more  complicated.  We  remember  one  of 
the  essential  elements  of  aesthetic  pleasure  to  be 
that  the  object  which  produces  it  shall  be  so  ex- 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  155 

hibited  that  the  disagreeable  is  thrown  into  the 
background  or  minimized.  And  we  also  noted 
that  what  is  disagreeable  to  one  is  not  to  another. 
If,  however,  something  which  is  unpleasant  is 
brought  before  or  suggested  to  the  mind,  the 
aesthetic  impression  is  weakened.  A  work  of  art 
under  such  circumstances  is  less  beautiful.  Ac- 
cording to  the  temperament  of  individuals,  defects 
in  form  and  repulsive  suggestions  of  the  subject- 
matter  alike  impair  the  aesthetic  interest,  because 
they  violate  an  aesthetic  law.  The  aesthetic  value 
is  depreciated. 

Morality  is  a  necessity  of  social  life.  The  re- 
lations of  human  beings  to  each  other  are  organic, 
and  conduct  must  be  regulated  to  some  degree  by 
every  one  with  reference  to  others.  Under  the 
pressure  of  the  social  situation  of  mankind,  ideals 
of  duty  grow  and  a  moral  sensibility  is  developed. 
As  this  sense  increases  in  power,  it  tends  more 
and  more  to  dominate  the  whole  mental  nature 
and  to  control  conduct.  That  which  is  right  is 
approved  and  that  which  is  wrong  is  repugnant. 
The  moral  consequences  of  actions  are  regarded 
closely  and  educational  influences  become  of  im- 
portance. Moral  men  and  women  please  and  the 
immoral  are  displeasing.  Our  sympathies  are  with 
righteousness  and  our  aspirations  are  toward 
moral  ideals. 

Such  being  the  case,  it  is  evident  that  the 
growth  of  a  moral  sensibility  must  modify  the 


156  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

aesthetic  sensibility.  If  a  work  of  art  offends  the 
moral  susceptibilities  strongly,  its  beauty  departs 
from  it.  It  may  be  well  executed,  but  it  dis- 
pleases, shocks,  horrifies.  It  is  ugly,  not  beauti- 
ful, and  we  turn  away  from  it  with  repugnance. 
A  work  of  art  it  may  be,  but  not  of  high  art.  It 
does  not  fully  satisfy  the  conditions  of  aesthetic 
approval.  It  must  inevitably  follow  from  these 
considerations  that  the  sense  of  beauty  and  artis- 
tic excellence  is  not  independent  of  the  moral 
sense,  because  the  latter  helps  to  form  the  artistic 
ideal.  Regard  for  it  is  a  condition  of  aesthetic 
pleasure.  Equally  inevitable  is  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  impossible  to  eliminate  the  moral  from 
aesthetic  judgments  and  to  divorce  morality  and 
art.  If,  then,  we  say  that  a  work  of  real  art  is 
therefore  moral,  true  as  the  statement  may  be,  it 
does  not  exclude  the  further  truth  that  the  moral 
element  has  been  necessary  to  make  that  work  a 
truly  artistic  product. 

There  are  various  modes  in  which  ethical  senti- 
ments influence  people  in  the  way  of  affecting 
their  aesthetic  appreciation.  Of  these  modes  two 
general  classes  may  roughly  be  made  :  the  one,  of 
the  effects  the  work  may  have  upon  conduct  and 
character ;  the  other,  in  the  revelation  made  of  the 
mind  and  character  of  the  artist  himself.  Consid- 
ering the  first  of  these,  we  are  offended  if  an  es- 
sentially false  view  of  human  experience  is  pre- 
sented by  which  people  would  be  misled  to  their 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  157 

detriment.  Arguments  in  support  of  evil  courses 
by  showing  light  or  beneficial  consequences  flow- 
ing therefrom  are  of  this  order.  Unless  such 
arguments  are  overcome  and  a  proper  balance 
restored,  the  moral  sensibilities  are  painfully  dis- 
turbed. We  are  displeased  with  the  work  because 
of  its  untruth,  and  the  injury  which  is  possible  to 
result  from  this  want  of  fidelity  to  truth.  Our 
moral  (and  also,  in  this  case,  our  scientific)  senti- 
ments cause  us  to  regard  the  art-product  as  imper- 
fect. It  fails  as  to  fitness,  proportion,  order, 
keeping,  congruity.  It  is  not  well  done.  Often- 
times, to  be  sure,  this  moral  assertion  is  very 
unreasonable  and  unjustifiable.  It  has  sway  be- 
cause of  the  low  degree  of  the  individual's  in- 
telligence. Of  this  we  need  not  at  present  take 
account ;  we  are  only  remarking  one  of  the  cases 
in  which  the  ethical  sentiment  makes  itself  felt. 
Another  illustration,  and  one  exhibiting  moral 
emotion  in  its  purity,  is  found  in  the  indignation 
which  is  excited  when  distinctly  evil  passions  are 
encouraged  and  stimulated,  or  are  thought  to  be, 
by  a  work  of  art.  Where  devilishness  seems  to  be 
dominant  we  lose  all  patience  and  become  blind 
to  everything  else.  The  impression  may  even  be 
that  of  ugliness,  against  which  beauties  that  some 
might  readily  see  have  no  countervailing  force. 

In  all  these  cases  there  is  a  reversion  to  the  art- 
ist  and  a  lower  opinion  formed  of  him,  which  still 
further  impairs  the  work.  We  think  he  is  not 


I58 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


skilful,  not  clever,  not  a  man  of  genius,  else  his 
judgment  would  have  been  truer.  He  would  have 
seen  that  he  was  presenting  a  partial  or  one-sided 
view.  He  would  have  been  conscious  that  the 
observer,  unless  of  inferior  intelligence,  could  not 
take  pleasure  in  what  he  produces.  He  is  deficient 
in  his  understanding  of  what  constitutes  good 
art,  he  fails  to  read  human  character,  and  he  is 
unable  to  form  those  ideals  which  give  the  fullest 
inspiration  for  artistic  essays.  Thus,  it  being  im- 
possible, as  we  have  noted,  to  remove  the  person- 
ality of  the  artist  from  estimates  of  his  work, 
moral  sentiments  may  so  powerfully  influence 
people  as  to  form  and  control  their  aesthetic  judg- 
ments and  artistic  sense  from  despising  or  con- 
demning the  author  as  well  as  his  production. 

This  seems  rather  extreme,  but  many  of  us 
have  seen  instances  quite  bearing  out  the  above 
assertion.  Prejudice  is  blind,  and  strong  feeling 
will  result  in  a  blinding  antipathy.  But  even 
though  increase  of  intelligence  produces  a  more 
just  and  evenly  balanced  mind,  artists  must  not 
expect  that  moral  considerations  will  cease  to  in- 
fluence judgments  upon  works  of  art.  This  never 
can  be,  for  the  reasons  stated : 

"  Truth  and  Good  are  one, 
And  Beauty  dwells  with  them,  and  they  in  her, 
With  like  participation."* 

*  Akenside. 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  159 

What  can  and  ought  to  be  done  is  to  so  educate 
the  human  mind  as  to  create  a  true  moral  per- 
spective, to  cause  the  whole  field  of  life  and  con- 
duct to  be  surveyed  and  things  to  be  seen  in  their 
true  relations,  to  secure  a  correct  estimate  of  the 
degree  of  morality  or  immorality  in  particular 
things.  Then  calm  judgment  will  take  the  place 
of  that  moral  fury  which  is  itself  immoral,  and  the 
mere  fact  that  one's  prejudices  are  offended  will 
not  suffice  for  the  condemnation  of  a  work  of  art 
which  has  many  merits  in  the  eyes  of  him  who 
has  a  wider  comprehension  and  a  deeper  insight. 

The  true  philosophy  of  this  subject  is  found  in 
recognizing  the  general  correspondence  and  inter- 
dependence of  ideals  of  Beauty,  Truth,  and  Good- 
ness. As  I  have  remarked  elsewhere,*  the  same 
ideal  may  be  an  ideal  of  truth,  beauty,  or  good- 
ness, according  as  it  is  viewed ;  that  is  to  say,  the 
same  mental  picture  or  fiction  may  serve  the  pur- 
pose of  a  scientific  ideal ;  of  awakening  pleasure, 
or  of  an  emotive  ideal ;  of  inspiring  volition,  or  a 
volitional  ideal ;  and  it  is  not  easy  to  say  in  what 
degree  each  influences  the  others.  For  the  im- 
pressions of  beauty,  truth,  and  utility  are  often 
demanded.  The  utility  of  an  object,  in  fact,  often 
determines  its  beauty,  as  we  see  prominently  ex- 
emplified in  architecture,  where  a  pillar,  an  arch, 
or  a  foundation  is  totally  destitute  of  aesthetic 

*  "  System  of  Psychology,"  ch.  lii.,  vol.  ii. 


l6o  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

effect  unless  it  subserve  the  ends  of  the  edifice. 
Very  few  things  can  be  cited  as  good  which  do 
not  carry  with  them  the  value  of  truth.  Scientific 
ideals  lie  at  the  basis  of  ideals  of  goodness. 
Again,  the  utility  of  some  things  depends  upon 
their  beauty,  while  the  members  of  the  whole 
class  of  aesthetic  ideals  have  utility  as  being  objects 
of  pleasurable  contemplation,  and  thus  ends  to  be 
sought.  Scientific  ideals  being  peculiarly  related 
to  cognition,  aesthetic  ideals  to  emotion,  and 
moral  ideals  to  volition  and  action,  their  close 
connection  and  interfusion  is  necessitated  from 
the  psychological  interdependence  of  cognition, 
feeling,  and  volition  themselves. 

After  these  general  remarks,  we  will  proceed  to 
a  more  particular  consideration  of  that  branch  of 
artistic  production  which  is  the  subject  of  this 
essay.  What  has  been  said  as  to  the  impossibility 
of  avoiding  the  influence  of  moral  sentiments 
applies  with  special  force  to  this  department  of 
art.  As  we  saw  in  the  opening  chapters,  not  only 
are  moral  and  scientific  values  found  in  stories, 
but  works  of  fiction  are  often  written  with  a  defi- 
nite moral  or  scientific  purpose.  Indeed,  in  the 
minds  of  some  its  didactic  end  has  frequently 
been  considered  the  sole  raison  d'etre  of  the  novel. 
These  facts  should  not  be  lost  sight  of,  though, 
happily,  broader  views  generally  prevail.  Yet, 
while  the  reading  public  does  not  require  that  a 
story  be  written  with  a  moral  purpose,  there  is 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  161 

prevalent  a  strong  feeling  that  it  shall  not  be  im- 
moral or  of  unhealthy  educational  tendency.  If 
it  is  so,  its  artistic  merit  is  diminished. 

It  is  quite  certain  that  no  universal  rules  can  be 
laid  down,  upon  the  topic  of  moral  effect,  as  to 
the  selection  or  exclusion  of  subjects,  nor  as  to 
the  method  of  treatment  when  once  a  subject  is 
chosen.  People  do  not  think  alike  ;  they  are  dif- 
ferently susceptible  to  influences,  and  there  is  no 
uniformity  of  standard  either  of  ethical  or  educa- 
tional principles.  Accordingly,  in  our  discussion 
we  shall  examine  a  few  of  the  leading  particulars 
in  fiction  composition  with  respect  to  which  the 
charge  of  immoral  influence  or  effect  is  likely  to 
be  brought.  These  cases  we  shall  consider,  with 
a  view  of  ascertaining  how  far  such  a  charge  can  be 
substantiated,  and  the  nature  of  the  effect  itself. 

In  the  first  place,  we  should  notice  such  stories 
as  by  their  plot,  by  the  conversation  of  their  char- 
acters, or  by  the  interjected  sentiments  of  the 
author,  assault  existing  religious  or  political  insti- 
tutions. No  doubt  in  all  cases  the  supporters  of 
such  institutions  would  denounce  works  of  this 
character  as  both  immoral  and  criminal.  The  lat- 
ter, indeed,  they  may  be  when  not  the  former.  A 
crime  is  not  necessarily  immoral.  Criminality  is  a 
creation  of  law.  Reading  the  Bible  may  be  made 
a  crime,  but  it  would  hardly  be  considered  an  act 
against  morality.  In  Virginia  people  were  once 
actually  convicted  of  and  punished  for  the  crime 


162  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

of  teaching  slaves  to  read  the  Bible.  Whatever 
by  law  is  made  an  offence  against  the  State  is 
criminal,  but  not  therefore  immoral.  Reproba- 
tion of  a  book  because  it  is  a  protest  against  ex- 
isting authority  may  thus  be  very  severe,  and  yet 
it  could  not  be  considered  of  immoral  influence, 
except  on  theories  which  identify  morality  with 
submission  to  authority.  Such  theories  prevail, 
however,  at  some  times  and  places,  and  have  pre- 
vailed very  extensively  in  the  past.  Through 
them  sentiments  are  created  which  prevent  ar- 
tistic value  from  being  recognized  and  tend  to 
repress  genius. 

Living  in  an  enlightened  age,  and  in  a  country 
where  speech  is  free,  I  do  not  propose  to  take  up 
space  to  argue  in  favor  of  the  right  to  criticise  the 
established,  either  in  politics  or  religion.  Though 
we  must  allow  the  melancholy  fact  that  prejudice 
does  render  men  both  deaf  and  blind,  we  may 
safely  maintain,  wherever  we  find  on  close  analy- 
sis that  the  gravamen  of  the  accusation  of  im- 
morality against  a  novel  lies  in  its  opposition  to 
the  domination  of  authority  as  such,  that  the 
charge  has  no  foundation.  In  such  a  case,  we 
ought  to  pray  that  men  may  become  enlightened, 
so  that  they  may  see  the  truth  and  by  the  truth 
may  be  made  free  from  a  debasing  slavery  fatal 
to  honesty  and  the  truest  morality.  If,  then,  we 
should  be  told  that  a  story  is  "  bad,"  and  on  inquiry 
should  discover  that  our  critic  means  it  is  bad  be- 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  163 

cause  an  argument  might  be  drawn  from  it  against 
monarchy,  or  republicanism,  against  the  Romish 
Church,  or  episcopacy,  or  presbyterianism,  or  ag- 
nosticism, we  may  safely  discard  the  adverse  judg- 
ment and  try  to  eliminate  from  our  minds  what- 
ever bias  may  lurk  there  by  reason  of  our  own 
predilections.  Art  cannot  be  understood  or  ap- 
preciated without  a  broad  and  judicial  mind.  We 
need  not  hesitate  to  say,  therefore,  that  any  book 
condemned  as  pernicious,  nominally  or  really,  on 
the  ground  that  it  is  subversive  of  established 
authority,  should  not  for  that  reason  be  set  aside. 
Such  an  objection  should  rather  be  wholly  ignored  ; 
and  unless  we  are  able  to  ignore  it,  we  are  not 
competent  to  pass  judgment  on  the  work.  Its 
morality  or  immorality  has  nothing  to  do  with 
such  considerations,  much  less  its  excellence  as 
a  work  of  art. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  questions  of  the  depiction 
of  that  which  is  conceded  to  be  evil,  apart  from 
any  declaration  of  authority.  From  our  present 
consideration  we  will  leave  out  illustrations  of  the 
sexual  passion  for  separate  treatment  a  little  later. 
We  shall  have  remaining  those  promptings  of  a 
wicked  nature  which  lead  to  offences  of  various 
sorts  against  life,  liberty,  and  property.  Of  these 
murder  is  the  chief,  and  may  be  taken  as  a  typical 
example.  Is  the  representation  of  the  unlawful 
killing  of  human  beings  and  the  circumstances 
leading  thereto  immoral?  If  it  be,  and  we  are  to 


164  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

abolish  tragedy  in  fiction,  certainly  a  large  amount 
of  romantic  literature  would  have  to  be  destroyed, 
and  with  it  a  great  many  masterpieces.  Surely 
bloodthirstiness  cannot  be  ignored  in  human  life, 
and  if  the  novelist  makes  his  selection  of  impor- 
tant characters  from  the  cruel  and  the  murderous, 
he  will  at  least  be  likely  to  arouse  that  interest 
which  monstrosity  evokes.  Besides,  the  develop- 
ment of  incident  issuing  at  last  in  murder  is  usu- 
ally startling  enough  to  hold  the  reader's  atten- 
tion on  the  principle  of  the  id^e  fixe. 

The  immoral  effect  of  tales  involving  blood- 
shed does  not  come  from  the  facts  introduced  but 
rather  from  their  coloring.  If  murder  be  digni- 
fied and  justified,  and  if  a  murderer  be  painted  as 
a  hero,  undoubtedly  an  influence  is  exerted  over 
the  mind  of  an  immature  reader  formative  of  a 
false  ideal  of  character.  The  same  influence  may 
obtain  also  with  the  more  mature,  though  in  less 
degree.  Walter  Scott,  perhaps,  is  the  most  suc- 
cessful of  any  writer  in  making  homicide  charming, 
and  in  elevating  thugs  to  the  rank  of  demi-gods. 
His  heroes,  from  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion  through 
the  list,  are  chiefly  brutal  ruffians,  over  whom  the 
false  splendor  of  the  ideals  of  chivalry  has  cast  a 
glamour.  The  highest  and  noblest  sentiments  are 
ascribed  to  men  who  would  not  hesitate  to  slay 
each  other  in  a  quarrel  over  some  trifling  matter 
of  "  honor."  They  have  not  the  faintest  idea  of 
a  complete  all-around,  comprehensive  morality. 


ART,  MORALS,  AND  SCIENCE.  165 

Yet  they  are  so  presented  as  to  claim  admira- 
tion, and  to  receive  it  from  most  readers.  It 
would  startle  people  to  hear  Sir  Walter's  novels 
charged  with  immorality,  and  it  would  be  very 
difficult  for  the  average  reader  to  consider  them 
as  obnoxious  to  such  a  charge.  The  reason  for 
this  state  of  things  is,  I  opine,  the  remoteness  of 
the  danger  of  any  one  being  corrupted  by  Scott's 
representations  of  character,  coupled  with  his 
admirable  style  of  depiction,  and  the  scientific  in- 
terest aroused  in  the  manner  and  morals  of  a  de- 
parted age.  People  are  not  incited  to  murder  and 
robbery  by  reading  the  poems  of  Homer  or  the 
books  of  the  Pentateuch,  though,  in  both,  these 
crimes  be  praised,  and  indeed  commanded  by  di- 
vine authority.  The  environment  is  entirely  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  the  reader,  and  while  the  moral 
sense  of  disapproval  may  sometimes  be  stirred,  it 
is  at  once  balanced  by  the  reflection  that  the 
reader  lives  in  happier  and  better  times,  where 
violence  is  no  longer  prevalent,  and  where,  if  it 
occur,  the  offender  will  encounter  the  prison  and 
the  hangman.  Our  Rob  Roys  of  the  present  day 
may  have  just  as  excellent  traits  as  their  proto- 
type, but  the  condition  of  civilization  is  such  that 
they  cannot  be  heroes — unless  it  be  in  Kentucky. 
The  danger  of  immoral  effect  from  tales  of  blood 
is  much  increased  where  the  scene  is  laid  in  cir- 
cumstances so  nearly  like  the  surroundings  of  the 
reader  as  to  influence  his  own  conduct  insensibly, 


166  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

to  convince  him  that  homicide  is  justifiable  and 
that  private  revenge  is  proper,  and  indeed  manly. 
In  Mr.  Marion  Crawford's  story,  "  Greifenstein," 
the  owner  of  a  castle,  living  contentedly  enough 
with  his  wife,  receives  a  visit  from  a  brother  from 
whom  he  had  been  estranged.  Over  their  wine  at 
dinner  the  discovery  is  made  that  the  wife  was  the 
woman  who  had  formerly  married  the  visitor  and 
deserted  him  ;  whereupon  the  two  brothers  con- 
clude that  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  strangle  the 
woman  and  then  each  commit  suicide.  All  this 
is  successfully  accomplished.  Of  course,  the  men 
do  these  things  from  the  highest  motives.  It  is 
morally  necessary  to  choke  the  wife  and  shoot 
themselves.  The  author  does  not  justify  this, 
but  he  presents  us  with  two  very  respectable  men 
who  do.  Mr.  Edgar  Saltus,  in  "  Mr.  Incoul's  Mis- 
adventure," describes  Mr.  Incoul  as  taking  his 
revenge  upon  a  supposed  adulterous  wife  by  giv- 
ing her  a  sleeping  draught,  then  turning  on  the  gas 
after  closing  the  windows  of  her  chamber  and  lock- 
ing the  door  with  the  key  on  the  inside  by  means 
of  a  pair  of  pincers  used  from  without.  Then, 
after  the  funeral,  he  goes  about  his  avocations, 
relieved  that  he  has  got  through  with  a  disagreea- 
ble business  ;  his  "  misadventure  "  having  been 
his  marriage,  and  the  unpleasant  necessity  of  hav- 
ing to  murder  his  wife — an  unpleasantness,  how- 
ever, that  a  gentleman  may  have  to  encounter  and 
endure,  and  for  which  he  should  be  prepared  as 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE,  167 

for  any  other  of  the  petites  miseres  de  la  vie,  M. 
de  Maupassant,  in  "  L'Ordonnance,"  finds  a  climax 
in  the  colonel,  after  the  suicide  of  his  wife,  driven 
thereto  by  double  adultery  on  her  part  (and  after 
the  receipt  of  a  letter  written  by  her  before  death 
setting  forth  the  details  of  her  sins),  calling  in  his 
offending  orderly  and  shooting  him  down  instantly 
in  the  tent.  The  victim  was  a  cur,  who  had  in- 
duced the  wife  to  comply  with  his  wishes  by  threat- 
ening to  tell  the  husband  who  her  real  lover  was. 
Another  very  respectable  man  is  presented  as  com- 
mitting murder  because  it  was  the  proper  thing 
to  do,  the  circumstances  being  such  as  to  make 
sympathy  with  the  murdered  man  almost  impossi- 
ble. 

Without  more  illustrations — multitudes  of 
which  will  occur  to  every  one — we  find  educated? 
sensible,  refined  people  constantly  exhibited  in 
novels  as  committing  crimes  of  violence  from  al- 
leged moral  motives,  superior  to  the  law.  Ideal 
justice,  of  which  they  are  the  ministers,  takes  away 
the  guilt  and  removes  the  stigma.  That  such 
arguments  as  are  used  to  support  deeds  of  per- 
sonal revenge  are  sophistical  is  clear  enough  to  a 
well-balanced  mind.  Lynch  law  even  is  more  jus- 
tifiable, for  that  is  a  social,  not  an  individual,  act. 
That  people  do  entertain  sentiments  approving  of 
the  "  cheap  justice  of  the  shot-gun  "  is  unfortu- 
nately true.  All  the  more  dangerous,  then,  is  the 
influence  of  that  fictitious  literature  which  pict- 


l68  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

ures  deeds  of  murderous  criminality  as  something 
likely  to  happen  naturally  in  the  life  of  the  ordi- 
nary civilized  human  being.  Such  literature  may 
not  incite  the  reader  to  indulge  in  homicide  him- 
self, but  it  very  likely  will  cause  him  to  vote  for 
acquittal  the  next  time  he  sits  on  a  jury  trying  a 
man  who  has  committed  murder  from  "  high  mo- 
tives." 

Where  there  is  a  strong  reaction  in  the  reader's 
mind,  as  he  peruses  a  tale  of  the  character  we  are 
considering,  little  harm  is  done.  Then  he  con- 
demns the  book.  He  is  disposed  to  think  it  in- 
ferior as  a  work  of  art,  his  moral  perceptions  dom- 
inating. But  if  he  reads  more  of  the  same  sort, 
his  moral  feeling  is  weakened.  If  the  most  of  the 
stories  he  reads  are  of  similar  nature,  he  will  come 
to  enjoy  them,  and  the  ultimate  effect  upon  him 
will  be  precisely  that  of  bad  company,  influencing 
less  or  more,  according  to  his  strength  or  weak- 
ness of  character.  The  youth  or  the  man  of  low 
intelligence,  who  is  unable  to  weigh  arguments,  is 
of  course  likely  to  be  injured  most.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  "  dime  novels "  and  exciting 
tales  of  bloody  adventure  generally  are  among 
the  causes  of  crimes  of  violence.  These,  indeed, 
are  of  the  lowest  hell.  Yet  their  superiors  have 
much  for  which  they  are  answerable. 

If,  now,  we  proceed  to  consider  the  morality  of 
minute  descriptions  of  vice  and  crime,  we  shall 
find,  I  apprehend,  that  the  "  naturalists  "  have  at 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  169 

last  the  advantage  of  a  good  argument.  They 
can  say  with  much  truth,  that  if  vice  is  to  be 
revealed  in  a  story  it  should  be  exactly  and  ac- 
curately presented ;  the  cancer  should  be  shown 
with  all  its  roots ;  that  then  its  hatefulness  would 
be  a  powerful  deterrent.  Still,  omitting  the  sex- 
ual, naturalistic  accounts  of  the  horrible  nature 
of  evil  dispositions  and  deeds  certainly  will  not 
be  likely  to  allure.  The  real  objection  to  details 
of  vice  is  an  aesthetic  rather  than  a  moral  one. 
They  are  so  repulsive  that  they  destroy  the  artistic 
effect.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  how  Dosto- 
yevsky's  "  Crime  and  Punishment,"  for  example, 
can  have  aught  but  a  moral  effect ;  yet  the  work 
is  by  no  means  pleasant  reading.  The  same  thing 
is  true  of  many  of  the  war  scenes  in  '  Tolstoi's 
"  War  and  Peace."  But  it  is  the  very  minuteness 
of  analysis  which  takes  away  the  chance  of  evil 
effect. 

If  the  hideousness  of  crime  stands  forth  sali- 
ently,  the  inevitable  wretchedness  of  the  perpetra- 
tor and  the  utter  wreck  of  his  energies  and  hopes 
for  life  are  made  plain,  the  whole  current  of  the 
reader's  mind  is  set  against  evil  courses.  Such  is  the 
net  result  of  works  like  the  masterpieces  of  Balzac 
— "  Pere  Goriot,"  "  Eugenie  Grandet,"  "  C£sar  Bir- 
otteau,"  "  Le  Peau  de  Chagrin."  George  Eliot,  no 
doubt,  thought  the  first  of  these  "  hateful,"  because 
it  presented  such  an  unpleasant  picture  of  human 
character.  She  would  not  have  called  it  an  im- 


170  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

moral  book.  The  moral  of  "  Le  Peau  de  Chagrin  " 
is  obvious  and  impressive.  The  portrayals  by 
Dickens  of  besotted  vice  and  brutal  wickedness 
can  have  no  tendency  to  make  people  adopt  as 
models  of  character  such  vile  specimens  of  human- 
ity as  he  sets  before  his  readers.  No  one  reading 
a  story  like  Mrs.  Anne  Sheldon  Coombs's  "  A 
Game  of  Chance  "  would  ever  thereby  become  en- 
amoured of  the  stock-speculation  so  commonly 
destructive  in  modern  life.  We  must  conclude, 
therefore,  that  if  a  novel  deal  with  evil,  realistic 
or  naturalistic  description  is  in  general  not  to  be 
regarded  as  objectionable  on  the  score  of  vicious 
tendency.  It  may  be  unpleasant  and  have  the 
depressing  effect  that  the  observation  of  depravity 
has  always  upon  the  virtuous  mind  ;  on  this  point 
we  shall  have  more  to  say  later.  But  at  all  events 
the  book  is  not  otherwise  immoral  by  reason  of 
these  things. 

It  must  be  allowed,  however,  that  the  foregoing 
remarks  need  qualification  by  the  exception  which 
we  have  all  along  made.  Minute  accounts  of  the 
workings  of  the  sexual  passion  are  to  be  placed 
in  a  somewhat  different  category.  We  are  thus 
brought  to  a  topic  of  great  importance  in  the 
philosophy  of  fiction,  a  subject  which  in  recent 
times  is  engaging  the  attention  of  writers  and 
readers  more  extensively  than  ever  before,  because 
of  the  increasing  boldness  of  masters  of  fiction- 
writing  in  selecting  and  treating  phases  of  human 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  171 

experience  not  hitherto  deemed  fit  for  the  nov- 
elist's art.  Teachers  of  morality  are  generally 
appalled  by  this  freedom,  and  condemnations  of 
literary  licentiousness  are  everywhere  heard.  It 
behooves  us,  then,  to  examine  with  some  care  this 
phenomenon  of  literary  production. 

In  Chapter  IX.  we  remarked  the  fact  that  the 
chief  cause  of  interest  in  erotic  description  is  the 
stimulation  of  sexual  appetite.  This  is  the  reason 
why  minute  depictions  of  the  course  of  sex-rela- 
tions cannot  be  regarded  in  the  same  light,  morally 
speaking,  as  details  of  the  working  of  vicious  pas- 
sion of  a  predatory  nature.  They  tend  to  awaken, 
develop,  and  intensify  an  organic  appetite,  the 
means  for  gratifying  which  are  everywhere  found  in 
social  life.  If,  then,  such  gratification  be  immoral 
and  dangerous,  so  are  books  which  encourage  it. 
Gautier's  "  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin  "  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  charming  works  of  an  ero- 
tic character;  but  it  seems  useless  for  any  one  to 
attempt  to  deny  that  the  interest  in  that  work 
comes  essentially  from  the  excitation  of  sexual 
feeling,  more  or  less  strong  according  to  tempera- 
ment and  age.  The  delightful  style,  the  many 
scenes  and  descriptions  of  a  highly  artistic  char- 
acter, contribute  to  the  general  effect ;  for,  as  we 
have  also  observed  in  a  former  chapter,  the  aesthe- 
tic and  the  sexual  are  closely  related.  In  the  par- 
ticular work  in  question  we  have  carnal  amatory 
passion  idealized  and  made  beautiful. 


172 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


Let  us  contrast  with  this  "  Justine"  and  "  Juli- 
ette "  of  the  Marquis  de  Sade,  a  monomaniac  in 
sexual  diabolisms.  These  books — livres-a-clef — 
portray  the  appetite  as  leading  to  and  finding  its 
satisfaction  in  the  most  horrible  and  abominable 
cruelties.  Intermixed  with  the  narrative  is  a 
quantity  of  sophistical  philosophizing  which  could 
only  have  come  from  a  half-crazed  brain.  It  is 
difficult  to  see  what  there  is  in  such  narratives  as 
these  to  attract  any  but  the  most  brutal  natures. 
One  would  hardly  think  that  accounts  of  erotic 
association  with  hellish  circumstances,  torture,  and 
the  scenes  of  the  slaughter-house,  would  incite  any- 
body to  debauchery.  Only  abnormal  beings  would 
derive  any  satisfaction  from  such  accounts  as  are 
found  in  "  Justine  "  and  "  Juliette."  We  should 
naturally  call  the  books  most  outrageously  im- 
moral ;  but  there  is  room  for  questioning  whether 
their  effect  on  character  and  conduct  would  be  as 
bad  as  that  of  "  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin."  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  understood  as  asserting  that  the 
latter  is  a  worse  book  than  the  former.  I  only 
suggest  the  argument  that  Gautier's  masterpiece 
will  endure  in  literature,  while  the  horrid  tales  of 
the  Marquis  de  Sade  never  can,  save  for  the  inter- 
est of  the  curious.  If  feeding  this  particular  appe- 
tite aesthetically  is  to  be  reprobated,  I  think  we 
must  concede  that  much  more  nourishment  in  this 
line  is  afforded  by  "  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin  " 
than  by  "  Justine."  The  one  is  to  most  people 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  173 

aesthetically  superb ;  the  other,  aesthetically  con- 
sidered, is  detestable.  What  shall  we  say  as  to 
the  morality  ? 

Those  who  wish  to  defend  the  erotic  in  novels 
will  be  forced  by  the  exigencies  of  fact  and  logic  to 
take  a  much  bolder  line  of  argument  if  they  insist 
upon  their  position.  To  say  that  "to  the  pure  all 
things  are  pure  "  will  not  meet  the  case.  Some 
cynic  has  parodied  this  expression  by  the  assertion 
that  "to  the  pure*  all  things  are  nasty."  No  doubt 
a  virgin  of  forty-five  will  see  or  imagine  salacious- 
ness  in  a  novel  much  quicker  than  a  married 
woman  of  thirty.  Old  bachelors,  too,  of  ascetic 
characters  get  very  morbid  in  these  matters.  But 
whatever  the  condition  of  the  reader,  it  is  foolish  to 
urge  that  a  warmly  colored,  artistically  presented 
story  of  sex-affiliations  will  generally  please  merely 
on  account  of  its  abstract  beauty.  Its  beauty  will 
be  heightened  if  not  formed  by  erotic  stimulation  ; 
very  refined  it  may  be,  but  still,  after  all,  consti- 
tuting the  basis  of  appreciation.  If  this  be  so,  the 
artist  who  justifies  "  the  nude  in  literature  "  will 
have  to  take  the  ground  that  the  excitation  of  the 
sexual  appetite  is  not  so  harmful  as  has  been 
claimed  by  ascetic  moralists,  and  that  its  gratifica- 
tion is,  to  a  greater  extent  than  has  been  allowed, 
a  matter  of  personal  choice  and  right,  instead  of 
social  morality.  No  doubt  the  author  who  asserted 
this  would  raise  a  hornet's  nest  about  his  ears ; 
but  it  is  much  better  to  look  into  the  matter  pro- 


174 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


foundly  rather  than  superficially.  It  is  wiser  to 
present  the  question  squarely  and  discuss  it  can- 
didly than  to  put  ourselves  off  with  hypocrisies 
and  equivocations.  This  cant  about  reading  erotic 
books  for  the  "  style,"  the  "  moral  lessons  "  from 
the  vagaries  of  vice,  the  "  aesth'etic  form,"  the 
thousand-and-one  reasons  except  the  true  one,  is 
very  tiresome  and  disgusting.  They  are  read  by 
the  general  public  because  they  exhibit  the  move- 
ments of  a  powerful  human  appetite  which  the 
readers  possess,  which  sensibly  or  insensibly  enters 
into  the  life  and  affects  the  conduct  of  those 
readers,  and  which  is  pleasantly  stimulated  by 
imagination  and  fictitious  narrative. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enter  into  the  discussion 
of  what  is  and  what  is  not  true  sexual  morality 
and  immorality.  I  have  considered  these  ques- 
tions in  another  work,  which  I  expect  to  publish. 
But  there  are  some  things  which  should  be  said 
apropos  of  the  present  topic,  in  order  that  we  may 
understand  the  meaning,  and  the  bearings  upon 
literature,  of  the  depiction  of  erotic  sentiment. 
The  first  of  these  is  that  the  prevalence  of  such 
portrayals  is  evidence  of  an  increasing  develop- 
ment of  sentiment  in  the  direction  indicated  in 
the  last  paragraph,  and  away  from  the  old  ascetic 
standards.  The  latter  required  that  no  mention 
should  be  made  of  the  promptings  of  the  sexual 
passion,  or  its  influence  upon  character,  or  even  its 
relations  to  love.  Irregular  sexual  associations 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  175 

must  not  be  dwelt  upon,  and  their  mention  in  a 
story  is  an  objection  to  it.  I  personally  know  of 
a  certain  novel  having  been  rejected  by  a  leading 
publishing  house  in  New  York  for  the  sole  reason 
(as  stated)  that  it  referred  to  one  of  its  characters 
keeping  a  mistress,  the  latter,  however,  not  being 
brought  forward  prominently  in  the  work.  This 
is  almost  as  bad  as  another  instance  within  the 
writer's  knowledge,  wherein  an  ancient  fossil,  who 
for  many  years  occupied  the  position  of  reader  for 
a  large  publishing  firm,  rejected  a  story  as  im- 
moral because  its  opening  chapter  described  a 
party  of  young  men  at  Delmonico's,  who  got  hila- 
rious over  their  cups  before  they  left.  Both  of 
these  stories  were  discarded  on  the  ascetic  prin- 
ciple that  to  recognize  vice  is  to  favor,  and  to 
ignore  is  the  best  way  of  extinguishing  it.  I  have 
often  wondered  why  intelligent  routs  should  not 
see  the  value  to  them  of  this  policy  of  non-obser- 
vation and  silence.  How  much  more  to  their  ad- 
vantage is  it  when  society  considers  certain  things 
as  impossible,  and  how  much  wider  the  field  for 
their  operations.  But  we  cannot  avoid  asking 
people  of  ascetic  proclivities  some  day  to  put  on 
spectacles  of  a  little  higher  power,  to  look  on  the 
world  as  it  is,  and  then  seriously  ask  themselves 
the  question  whether  knowledge  may  not  after  all 
be  better  than  innocence  for  the  cause  of  sound 
morals. 

The  Gallic  freedom  of  expression  in  regard  to 


176  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

matters  of  sex-relations  is,  no  doubt,  quite  shock- 
ing to  many  Anglo-Saxons.  Moreover,  the  French 
believe  in  recognizing  sex-pleasures  as  legitimate 
ends  in  themselves,  to  be  enjoyed  for  their  own 
sake,  and  not  merely  as  means  to  providential 
purposes.  Hence,  these  become,  like  all  other 
pleasures,  the  proper  subjects  of  art.  This  also 
is  abominable  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind.  But 
it  may  well  be  doubted  if  the  general  family  life 
and  morality  of  the  French  is  any  worse  or  on 
any  lower  plane  than  the  English.  In  London  I 
have  noticed  that  a  great  many  improper  things 
are  done,  even  if  nothing  is  said.  In  Paris,  I  am 
inclined  to  the  belief  that  fewer  iniquities  are  com- 
mitted, because  such  matters  are  talked  and  writ- 
ten about.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  the  Frenchman  likes  to  have  adopted  as  the 
subject  of  literary  fiction  matters  of  occurrence 
which  the  Englishman  would  not  at  present  toler- 
ate from  an  author  writing  in  his  own  language. 
With  the  former,  therefore,  the  erotic  in  life  is  as 
much  entitled  to  artistic  and  literary  treatment  as 
any  other  phase  of  human  experience. 

In  such  a  condition  of  sentiment  as  that  which 
the  French  display,  questions  of  morality  are 
greatly  modified.  If  the  state  of  innocence  be 
once  gone,  a  very  complete  education  is  the  best 
thing.  Hence  a  book  like  M.  Alphonse  Daudet's 
"  Sappho,"  in  the  midst  of  modern  French  litera- 
ture, cannot  properly  be  considered  as  other  than 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  177 

moral.  The  author's  dedication  to  his  sons  when 
they  shall  have  reached  the  age  of  twenty  years 
indicates  that  he  thought  its  educational  influence 
beneficial.  His  judgment  is  no  doubt  correct. 
An  American  living  in  a  country  community, 
where  an  Arcadian  simplicity  prevails,  would  prob- 
ably not  have  the  book  in  his  house,  because  he 
would  esteem  it  dangerous.  "  Anna  Karenina  " 
surely  cannot  be  regarded  as  encouraging  vice,  nor 
can  Paul  Lindau's  "  Lace,"  both  of  which  deal 
with  fatal  consequences  of  adultery.  Yet  these 
last  two  are  often  condemned  with  the  other, 
and  for  like  reasons — the  blessedness  of  igno- 
rance. 

American  critics  are  complaining  of  the  "  Gallic 
taint  "  as  conspicuous  in  recent  American  fiction 
to  an  alarming  degree.  A  newspaper  reviewer  in 
a  leading  journal  observes  that  "  the  French  fic- 
tion of  the  day,  with  its  ever-increasing  morbid- 
ness and  impurity,  and  its  diaphanous  pretences 
of  art  for  art's  sake,  has  been  silently  absorbed, 
and  with  a  growth  in  eagerness  bespeaking  deca- 
dent ethical  principles."  It  is  quite  true  that  a 
number  of  tales  of  the  erotic  type  have  appeared 
within  a  few  years ;  but  it  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  the  condition  of  American  literature  is  such 
that  a  few  books  of  this  kind  will  make  more  stir 
than  a  multitude  of  a  less  unusual  character. 
Probably  this  is  one  chief  reason  why  the  authors 
and  publishers  issue  them.  It  is  worth  considera- 


178  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

ble  to  have  a  book  savagely  condemned  on  this 
score.  Present  sales  are  of  more  consequence 
than  posthumous  fame.  But  it  is  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  the  tastes  of  people  in  the  United 
States  have  changed  radically  in  the  last  decade ; 
and  if  in  about  that  time  nearly  a  million  copies 
of  E.  P.  Roe's  novels  have  found  a  market,  we 
need  not  be  troubled  for  the  present  over  the 
spread  of  Gallic  poison.  Nevertheless,  we  might 
as  well  make  up  our  minds  that  American  ficti- 
tious literature  has  lost  its  virgin  innocence.  It 
will  be  far  better  to  conquer  our  squeamishness 
and  cheerfully  allow  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
passion,  that  there  are  in  the  world  irregularities 
of  sex-relations,  and  that  all  phases  of  human  ex- 
perience may  supply  material  for  the  novelist,  if  his 
treatment  of  them  be  decent.  If  public  sentiment 
allows  more  liberty,  we  shall  have  stronger  and 
better  works  of  more  ethical  as  well  as  aesthetic 
value.  For  the  sake  of  this  we  can  afford  to  tol- 
erate an  occasional  erotic  genius,  satisfied  that  in 
the  multitude  of  educational  influences  the  harm 
he  can  do  is  very  limited. 

Professor  H.  H.  Boyesen,  of  Columbia  College, 
New  York,  performed  a  most  excellent  service  in  an 
article  published  in  the  Forum,  in  which  he  discussed 
the  reason  why  in  America  we  have  as  he  consid- 
ers no  great  novelists.  He  thinks  it  is  because 
stories  are  constructed  on  the  theory  that  they  must 
be  suited  to  the  educational  needs  of  the  Young 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  179 

Person,  particularly  the  Young  Girl.  Hence,  "  a 
weak  lemonade  mixture,  harmless  and  mildly  ex- 
hilarating, adapted  for  the  palate  of  ingtnues,  is 
poured  out  in  a  steady  stream  from  our  presses, 
and  we  all  drink  it,  and  from  patriotic  motives 
declare  it  to  be  good."  There  is  sound  truth  in 
these  remarks,  though  the  facts  be  not  creditable 
to  us.  The  idea  that  a  story-writer  is  bound  to 
write  nothing  but  what  every  young  person,  how- 
ever weak  his  or  her  moral  fibre,  may  safely  read, 
would,  if  carried  out,  reduce  fictitious  writing  to 
the  category  of  Sunday-school  books.  Not  but 
what  a  writer  may  devote  himself  entirely  to 
the  latter  class  of  composition.  But  to  declare 
that  they  are  to  exclude  others  or  furnish  the 
standard  of  novel-writing  is  ridiculous.  The 
healthy  growth  of  a  literature  depends  upon  its 
freedom  for  expansion.  Unwholesome  books 
there  may  be,  but  there  are  unwholesome  people. 
Of  the  two  the  latter  are  much  worse,  yet  they 
are  in  the  world  about  us,  and  our  children  see 
them  and  meet  them  without  perceptible  harm. 
If  we  do  our  duty  in  educating  we  can  create  in 
children  a  sound  and  healthy  character  based  on 
knowledge  instead  of  ignorance.  The  "  sheltered 
life"  theory  as  to  both  girls  and  boys  is  carried 
altogether  too  far.  Knowledge  must  come  some 
time  ;  better  that  it  be  acquired  naturally  and 
accurately  when  it  is  sought  rather  than  to  have 
formed  in  the  mind  a  wrong  "  illusion  "  of  life,  as 


180  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

M.  de  Maupassant  calls  it,  by  a  process  of  that 
suppressio  vert,  which  is  to  the  young  a  suggestio 
falsi.  When,  in  the  last  case,  the  Young  Person 
becomes  undeceived,  when  he  does  eat  of  the  tree 
of  knowledge,  the  shock  to  him  is  very  great,  and 
he  is  apt  to  lose  all  confidence  both  in  learning 
and  in  human  character.  The  other  is  much  the 
better  way.  But,  in  any  event,  literature  does  not 
exist  solely  for  children  and  youth,  nor  is  the 
question  of  its  morality  or  immorality  to  be  settled 
exclusively  by  reference  to  the  effect  on  them. 
Let  their  needs  be  considered,  of  course,  but  also 
let  it  be  considered  that  grown  people  have  rights. 
If  milk  be  the  proper  food  for  babes,  strong  men 
should  not  be  deprived  of  meat  because  the  babes 
may  sometimes  get  hold  of  it  to  their  detriment. 

One  of  the  best  discussions  of  this  question  of 
"  the  nude  in  literature "  is  found  in  an  article 
published  in  the  New  York  World*  under  that 
title,  and  written  by  Mr.  George  Gary  Eggleston. 
I  venture  to  quote  a  few  sentences  which,  to  my 
mind,  express  exactly  the  true  doctrine  of  this 
difficult  subject.  He  says  :  "  The  modern  novelist 
must  deal  with  modern  life.  If  his  work  is  to  be 
of  any  value  he  must  deal  with  it  truthfully.  It 
is  not  permitted  to  him,  if  he  be  a  true  artist  or 
if  his  work  is  to  have  any  value,  to  deal  with  one 
side  of  it,  ignoring  the  existence  of  the  other.  He 

*  December  15,  1889. 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  igl 

must  recognize  fact  and  state  it.  If  he  does  so 
with  fidelity  and  with  honest  purpose,  the  result 
is  good  and  for  good  ;  if  he  does  so,  as  many 
modern  novelists  have  done,  without  fidelity,  the 
result  must  be  evil  in  every  case. 

"  Every  fact  of  human  life,  every  trait  of  human 
character,  every  possibility  of  human  conduct  is 
legitimate  material  for  the  use  of  the  creative 
literary  artist,  and  every  such  fact,  trait,  and  pos- 
sibility may  be  wholesomely  or  evilly  employed, 
according  as  the  purpose  and  method  of  its  em- 
ployment may  determine.  The  trouble  is  that 
both  in  the  popular  judgment  and  in  what  is 
called  '  literary  criticism '  there  is  a  constant  fail- 
ure to  discriminate  between  wholesome  and  un- 
wholesome methods,  between  legitimate  and  ille- 
gitimate uses. 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  legitimacy  of  materials  ; 
it  is  a  question  of  the  legitimacy  of  the  uses  made 
of  them. 

"  All  truths  are  wholesome  if  wholesomely 
treated,  and  if  the  art  of  fiction  is  not  to  fall  into 
utter  decay,  this  principle  must  be  recognized  by 
the  critics  and  by  the  public.  Failure  to  recognize 
it  is  the  chief  cause  of  the  prevalence  and  success 
of  evilly  erotic  fiction.  It  has  the  effect  to  silence 
the  voices  of  those  who  wish  to  deal  wholesomely 
with  the  unwholesome  things  of  life,  and  turns 


1 82  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

over  the  most  necessary  materials  of  creative  art 
to  those  whose  foul  minds  desire  only  to  misapply 
them.  It  is  time  for  a  sharp  revision  of  judgments 
in  a  matter  that  vitally  concerns  the  future  of 
fictitious  literature  among  us." 

If  we  adopt  Mr.  Eggleston's  canons  for  our 
standard  we  shall  not  reject  novels  because  a 
mistress  is  introduced  in  them,  nor  because  they 
show  violations  of  the  seventh  commandment,  nor 
because  they  recognize  sexual  passion  in  any 
form.  We  shall  not  restrict  the  artist  as  to  his 
materials.  But  we  shall  look  a  little  more  closely 
than  the  French  do  to  the  manner  in  which  he 
uses  those  materials.  We  shall  have  some  regard 
for  growing  youth,  even  if  we  do  not  allow  that 
literature  exists  only  for  them.  We  shall  under- 
stand that  the  tendency  of  too  naturalistic  de- 
scriptions in  this  line  is  bad  from  a  moral  point  of 
view  and  must  be  curtailed.  Carried  too  far,  if  it 
cease  to  be  immoral  it  may  become  aesthetically 
offensive.  Then,  as  Mr.  Henry  James  says,  in  his 
essay  on  Charles  Baudelaire  :  "  We  are  at  a  loss  to 
know  whether  the  subject  pretends  to  appeal  to 
our  conscience  or — we  were  going  to  say — to  our 
olfactories.  '  Le  Mai,'  we  exclaim,  'you  do  your- 
self too  much  honor.  This  is  not  evil ;  it  is  not 
the  wrong ;  it  is  simply  the  nasty ! ' ' 

For  the  novelist  the  difficulty  would  be,  I  sus- 
pect, to  refrain  from  realistic  descriptions  if  he 
once  selects  a  topic  which  involves  the  effect  of 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  ^3 

sex-appetite  on  conduct.  If  he  is  truly  an  artist 
it  will  be  hard  for  him  to  content  himself  with 
what  he  will  inevitably  consider  inadequate  por- 
trayal. Even  if  he  so  frame  his  story  as  to  pro- 
duce on  the  whole  a  highly  moral  effect,  there  will 
be  scenes  where  he  is  tempted  to  paint  vividly  and 
color  warmly.  It  is  very  possible,  then,  that  the 
reader  may  feed  his  imagination  on  these  scenes 
and  fail  to  receive  the  general  lesson.  We  have 
often  noticed  in  public  libraries  portions  of  books 
dealing  with  or  calling  attention  to  some  form  of 
sexuality  well-worn  and  soiled  by  finger-marks, 
when  the  rest  of  the  volumes,  innocent  of  such 
allusions,  are  left  white  and  clean.  Dr.  O.  W. 
Holmes*  refers  to  this  fact  in  discussing  "  Madame 
Bovary."  He  remarks  of  Flaubert's  great  novel : 
"That  it  has  a  serious  lesson  there  is  no  doubt,  if 
one  will  drink  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  cup. 
But  the  honey  of  sensuous  description  is  spread 
so  deeply  over  the  surface  of  the  goblet  that  a 
large  proportion  of  its  readers  never  think  of  its 
holding  anything  else.  All  the  phases  of  unhal- 
lowed passion  are  described  in  full  detail.  This  is 
what  the  book  is  bought  and  read  for  by  the  great 
majority  of  its  purchasers,  as  all  but  simpletons 
very  well  know."  Yet  there  is  much  reason  for 
Mr.  James's  thought  the  first  time  he  read  it, 
"  that  it  would  make  the  most  useful  of  Sunday- 

*  Atlantic  Monthly,  April,  1890. 


1 84  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION, 

school  tracts."  *  Some  of  Swedenborg's  works 
that  treat  of  the  reproductive  activities  furnish 
very  good  erotic  reading ;  yet  the  moral  and  re- 
ligious purpose  (and  general  effect,  if  properly 
read)  of  these  deliverances  is  perfectly  evident, 
and  for  this  his  works  are  highly  valued  and  Swe- 
denborg  himself  held  in  great  reverence  by  many 
moralists. 

How,  then,  after  these  reflections,  shall  we  an- 
swer the  question  asked  a  few  pages  back  as  to 
the  morality  of  "  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin  "  ?  I 
do  not  see  how  we  can  escape  from  the  conclu- 
sion that  its  effect  on  character  and  conduct  is 
naturally  bad  (and  hence  it  is  of  immoral  tend- 
ency), if  we  believe  that  the  gratification  of  the 
sexual  appetite  is  not  to  be  considered  a  legitimate 
pleasure,  to  be  enjoyed  and  cultivated  for  its  own 
sake,  irrespective  of  any  particular  ends  or  pur- 
poses to  be  subserved  thereby. 

But  even  if  it  be  thus  estimated,  there  arises 
also  the  question  of  temperance  which  must  be 
met,  and  we  discover  that  those  people  who 
would  read  such  books  with  the  most  interest  are 
the  very  ones  most  likely  to  be  injuriously  affected 
by  the  descriptions.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  to 
be  said  that  after  character  is  formed  on  the  basis 
of  chastity  and  continence,  conduct  would  not  be 
influenced,  and  the  only  effect  is  that  aesthetic 

*"  French  Poets  and  Novelists." 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE,  185 

pleasure  which  is  connected  with  manifestations 
of  the  sex-passion.  Or,  if  the  character  be  estab- 
lished on  the  ideas  of  the  sybarite  and  voluptu- 
ary, it  may  be  urged  that  the  reader  will  be  no 
worse  for  the  reading  and  that  he  has  a  right  to 
indulge  his  own  tastes  as  he  pleases,  though  his 
preferences  are  not  ours.  On  the  whole,  therefore, 
we  must  conclude  that,  considered  educationally, 
"  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin "  is  dangerous,  the 
more  so  on  account  of  the  beautiful  style  in 
which  it  is  written ;  that  otherwise  it  is  good  or 
bad  on  the  moral  side  according  to  whether  we 
believe  in  the  ascetic  or  the  epicurean  view  of  the 
pleasures  of  sex-relations.  In  the  former  case  a 
strong  sentiment  prevents  us  from  allowing  to 
such  pleasures  a  legitimate  aesthetic  existence, 
denies  that  they  may  be  made  enjoyments  for 
their  own  sake,  and  considers  that  they  should 
be  indulged  only  for  race  preservation.  In  the 
latter  case,  the  more  refined  and  beautiful  such 
enjoyments  be  made  to  appear,  the  more  they  are 
brought  under  the  principles  of  aesthetic  govern- 
ment, the  better.  Associations  of  uncleanliness 
should  on  that  theory  be  eliminated,  and  nakedness 
cease  to  be  cause  for  shame,  until  those  ideals 
and  sentiments  of  which  we  have  evidence  as 
existing  in  Greece  in  the  period  of  the  fullest  ar- 
tistic development  are  again  realized.  Morality 
in  such  case  becomes  a  matter  of  temperance  and 
prudence,  the  obligations  of  which  are  imperative 


1 86  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

enough,  to  be  sure,  but  rest  on  a  different  founda- 
tion from  those  imposed  by  the  ascetics. 

For  the  sake  of  contrast  let  us  look  at  a  class  of 
novels  of  which  Paul  Heyse's  "  In  Paradise  "  may 
be  taken  as  a  type.  This  work  does  not  deal  in 
sensuous  description  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  intel- 
lectual and  spiritual  side  of  life  is  always  upper- 
most. A  little  coterie  of  artists  is  brought  together 
and  the  work  gives  us  their  lives.  They  are 
animated  by  the  highest  sentiments,  the  themes 
and  the  tone  of  conversation  are  elevating,  the 
characters  are  by  no  means  low.  Yet  at  the  end  of 
the  work  one  of  the  ladies  leaves  her  husband  and 
goes  off  to  Italy  to  live  with  another  man.  This 
is  done  after  deliberation,  with  the  full  approval 
of  their  friends,  and  they  live  contentedly  and 
happily  forever  afterward,  no  avenging  Nemesis 
disturbing  their  felicity.  In  taking  this  step  they 
have  realized  their  ideals  of  life.  Now,  if  we  con- 
sider that  such  a  course  is  inculcated  by  the  story 
as  a  laudable  one,  the  moral  or  lesson  is  against 
morality,  save  under  the  doctrine  that  marriage  is 
not  a  binding  contract,  but  may  be  dissolved  at  the 
will  of  either  party.  It  may  be  said  there  is  no 
such  lesson  taught.  The  author  simply  exhibits  a 
picture.  Such  things  happen  among  respectable 
people,  who  have  this  peculiar  "  illusion  "  of  life. 
But  in  a  story  the  "  illusion  "  is  apt  to  be  regarded 
as  typical  of  what  is,  or  as  an  ideal  of  what  ought 
to  be.  A  society  is  constructed  wherein  modes  of 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  187 

life  like  those  indicated  are  proper  and  apparently 
conduce  to  happiness.  The  influence  exerted  may 
not  be  very  evident,  but  it  is  subtle  and  insinuat- 
ing. The  reader  asks  himself :  Since  excellent 
people  do  these  things,  why  may  not  I  ?  Or,  is 
not  the  social  condition  here  described,  after  all, 
better  than  our  own  ?  If  the  reading  of  the  book 
aroused  the  earnest  and  sincere  desire  to  answer 
thoroughly  and  completely  such  queries  as  these, 
no  harm  would  result.  The  difficulty  is,  however, 
that  few  readers  will  be  impelled  to  such  a  course. 
The  most  will  receive  the  impression  and  be  insen- 
sibly affected  by  it.  They  will  adopt  half-truths 
as  the  whole  ;  they  will  generalize  too  broadly ; 
the  representation  of  this  particular  "  illusion  " 
will  prevent  the  formation  of  others  ;  they  will 
come  to  adopt  it  as  their  own  and  be  content  that 
it  become  universal,  not  taking  account  of  the 
pains  and  penalties  to  individuals  and  to  society. 
The  more  nearly  the  reader  identifies  himself  and 
his  social  environment  with  that  of  the  people  in 
the  story  who  do  wrong,  the  greater  is  the  moral 
danger.  If  these  intellectual  and  delightful  per- 
sons, whose  tastes  and  habits  are  so  like  mine  and 
those  of  my  friends,  get  along  so  comfortably  and 
satisfactorily,  are  not  my  good  friend,  Mrs.  Pious- 
in-Church,  and  myself  rather  slow  creatures  if  we 
fail  to  go  and  do  likewise  ?  We  might  as  well  take 
advantage  of  what  life  affords.  In  so  doing  we 
may  even  satisfy  a  long-felt  soul-aspiration  and 


1 88  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

come  into  a  much  fuller  and  more  complete  devel- 
opment of  our  whole  moral  nature  ! 

Paul  Heyse's  elective  affinity  based  on  intellec- 
tual tastes  and  sympathies  is  a  fair  example  of 
adultery  according  to  German  ideas.  M.  de  Mau- 
passant's "  Bel-Ami  "  shows  the  French  fashion — 
much  more  complicated  and  interlacing.  In  this 
latter  novel,  the  "  highly  intellectual  "  and  the 
"  superior  moral  "  do  not  appear.  Still,  the  society 
in  which  the  dramatis  persons  move  is  a  perfectly 
respectable  one  on  the  surface.  "  Bel-Ami  "  cer- 
tainly would  not  demoralize  the  same  class  of 
minds  that  would  be  affected  by  "  In  Paradise," 
nor  would  it  operate  in  the  same  way.  The  former 
would  appeal  to  a  Frenchman's  interest — but  I 
doubt  much  if  a  Frenchman  is  ever  injured  by 
books  of  this  sort.  They  do  not  form  his  society  ; 
they  are  rather  a  product  of  it ;  and  the  masculine 
mind  at  any  rate  has  received  its  own  impressions 
from  real  experience  as  soon  as  it  receives  them 
from  books,  if  not  before  ;  while  young  French 
girls  and  women  are  under  close  surveillance  as  to 
their  reading.  Nor  is  it  easy  to  see  how  an  Eng- 
lishman or  an  American  could  be  injured  morally 
by  this  book,  for  the  "  milieu  "  is  entirely  different 
from  his  own.  I  should  rather  say,  notwithstand- 
ing the  style  and  many  delightful  passages,  that 
the  work  is  not  so  much  immoral  as  "  nasty." 

The  chief  argument  in  favor  of  such  a  story  as 
"  Bel-Ami "  (taken  as  a  whole)  is  the  scientific. 


ART,  MORALS,  AND    SCIENCE.  189 

That,  of  course,  makes  for  the  justification  of  its 
morality.  Is  it  not  well  to  have  presented  pictures 
of  society  of  all  sorts  as  it  is  ?  This  is  the  con- 
tention of  the  naturalistic  writers.  In  a  former 
chapter  we  considered  the  danger  to  art  con- 
tained in  their  theory.  In  the  moral  question, 
however,  the  "  naturalists  "  hold  a  strong  position. 
If  their  novels  were  only  read  by  the  reflective  and 
earnest,  they  could  not  be  opposed  successfully  on 
the  moral  side ;  but  such  is  not  the  case,  while  the 
special  argument  arising  from  the  peculiar  suscep- 
tibility of  the  erotic  appetite  to  be  fed  by  descrip- 
tion still  remains  in  force. 

Mr.  W.  L.  Alden,  in  a  magazine  article,* 
maintains  that  violations  of  the  seventh  command- 
ment must  necessarily  enter  largely  into  fictitious 
literature  because  of  the  subjective,  analytical 
character  of  the  modern  novel.  Stories  for  the 
most  part  deal  with  social  life.  Into  this  love 
enters  to  a  prevailing  degree,  and  all  the  passion 
and  the  impulses  connected  with  it  must  become 
a  theme  for  description.  It  is  in  departures  from 
the  normal,  the  ordinary,  that  the  incidents  are 
found  which  are  requisite  for  interest.  M.  Daudet 
also  remarks  :  "  Adultery  with  all  its  dangers,  its 
emotions,  never  fails  to  attract."  f  There  is  truth 
in  these  observations.  But  if  some  characters  in 
a  story  commit  adultery,  it  is  pleasant  to  find 

*  The  Galaxy.  f  "  Thirty  Years  of  Paris." 


190 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


some  who  do  not  and  who  would  not  if  they  had 
a  chance.  There  are  such  people  in  the  world, 
but  we  do  not  discover  them  in  "  Bel-Ami,"  unless, 
perhaps,  the  very  old  people.  Hence  the  justice 
of  Mr.  Henry  James's  remark  about  this  particular 
story  :  "  The  world  represented  is  too  special,  too 
little  inevitable,  too  much  to  take  or  leave  as  we 
like — a  world  in  which  every  man  is  a  cad  and 
every  woman  a  harlot."*  It  seems  a  pity  that  a 
man  of  so  great  literary  genius  should  introduce 
his  readers  to  a  company  of  such  tiresome  and 
sickening  characters.  If  there  had  been  one  person 
of  a  different  type,  so  as  to  exhibit  a  contrast,  the 
effect  would  have  been  incalculably  better — like 
that  produced  by  Vera  and  Correze,  in  Ouida's 
"  Moths,"  for  example. 

But  we  must  be  reasonable  about  these  matters. 
It  is  to  be  regretted  that  there  exists  in  America 
a  provincial  prudery  for  which  the  birch-rod  is  the 
only  appropriate  medicine.  With  people  of  this 
ilk,  a  single  expression  is  quite  sufficient  to  kill  a 
novel  in  their  estimation ;  much  more  a  situation 
which  develops  illicit  associations.  They  are  rep- 
resented by  the  ancient  fossil  to  whom  I  made 
reference  a  few  pages  back,  who  objected  to  an  ac- 
count of  young  men  getting  drunk  at  Delmonico's. 
They  are  also  to  be  found,  it  seems,  among  the 
governors  of  young  ladies'  seminaries,  like  those  of 

*  "  Partial  Portraits." 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  191 

Wellesley  College,  who  condemned  Dr.  Edward 
Eggleston's  "  Roxy "  as  not  suitable  for  their 
library.  Now,  people  who  would  reject  "Roxy" 
would  have  spat  upon  and  buffeted  Jesus  of  Naz- 
areth ;  while  the  thieves  who  were  crucified  with 
him  would  be  too  good  company  for  them.  So 
we  often  observe  both  men  and  women  shudder- 
ing with  horror  at  the  discussion  of  current  French 
novels,  or  at  finding  these  stories  on  the  table  of  a 
friend.  It  is  the  same  sort  we  discover  draping 
nude  statues,  as  at  the  Detroit  Museum.  And 
again  in  journalism  we  notice  them  (I  think  with 
more  affectation  than  sincerity),  condemning,  for 
instance,  a  book  like  the  Marquise  Lanza's  "  Mod- 
ern Marriage,"  because,  though  the  tendency  of  the 
work  is  moral  and  its  execution  highly  artistic,  it 
contains  an  account  of  a  married  woman  visiting 
the  apartments  of  her  lover.  Then  they  abuse  the 
author  because  she  dedicated  such  a  tale  to  her 
young  sons !  So,  it  will  be  remembered,  Charlotte 
Bronte's  "  Jane  Eyre "  was  pronounced  too  im- 
moral to  be  ranked  as  decent  literature ;  George 
Eliot's  "Adam  Bede"  was  characterized  as  the 
"  vile  outpourings  of  a  lewd  woman's  mind  "  ;  and 
Mrs.  Browning's  "  Aurora  Leigh  "  was  described 
as  the  "hysterical  indecencies  of  an  erotic  mind." 
People  possessed  with  sentiments  so  extreme  can- 
not be  argued  with.  They  can  be  taught  nothing. 
They  can  sometimes  be  whipped  into  silence,  but 
that  is  all.  Those,  however,  who,  though  better 


1 92  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

than  they,  are  yet  inclined  to  be  more  respectful 
to  their  ideas  and  are  forming  their  own,  would  do 
well  to  study  the  many  noble  works  which,  either 
by  criticism  of  individuals  or  by  general  discus- 
sion, profoundly  deal  with  art  in  general  and 
literary  art  in  particular.  Then  the  eye  will 
see  more  clearly  and  the  mind  apprehend  more 
readily.  The  proper  universality  of  art  will  be 
understood,  and  the  remarks  of  Mr.  Henry  James 
to  the  young  novelist  will  be  appreciated  as  em- 
bracing the  best  and  profoundest  philosophy: 
"All  life  belongs  to  you,  and  don't  listen  either 
to  those  who  would  shut  you  up  in  corners  of  it 
and  tell  you  that  it  is  only  here  and  there  that  art 
inhabits,  or  to  those  who  would  persuade  you  that 
this  heavenly  messenger  wings  her  way  outside  of 
life  altogether,  breathing  a  superfine  air,  and  turn- 
ing away  her  head  from  the  truth  of  things.  There 
is  no  impression  of  life,  no  manner  of  seeing  it  and 
feeling  it,  to  which  the  plan  of  the  novelist  may 
not  offer  a  place."  *  Then,  on  the  special  question 
of  morality  and  immorality,  there  is  an  excellent 
thought  contained  in  the  following  language  of  R. 
Buchanan  :f  "An  immoral  subject,  treated  insin- 
cerely, leaves  an  immoral  effect  on  those  natures 
weak  enough  to  be  influenced  by  it  at  all.  The 
same  subject,  treated  with  the  power  of  genius 
and  the  delicacy  of  art,  delights  and  exalts  us.  In 

*  "  The  Art  of  Fiction."  f  Fortnightly  Review,  vol.  vi. ,  1866. 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  193 

the  pure  white  light  of  the  author's  sincerity  and 
the  delicate  tints  of  literary  loveliness,  the  im- 
moral point  just  shows  distinctly  enough  to  im- 
press purely,  without  paining." 

Assuming  that  proper  educational  precautions 
are  taken  as  to  immature  minds,  perhaps  the  peo- 
ple who  are  most  injured  by  books  of  evil  tenden- 
cies are  their  authors.  These  last  we  have  not 
been  particularly  considering,  but  they  ought  to 
be  considered.  We  have  insisted  all  along  that 
the  author  cannot  be  separated  from  his  work, 
and  that  the  revelation  therein  of  the  author's 
mind  pervades  the  aesthetic  impression  made  upon 
the  beholder  by  the  work  itself.  His  greatness  or 
littleness,  as  therein  disclosed,  enters  largely  into 
the  estimate  of  his  production.  Readers  want  to 
see  the  writer's  ideals  and  then  observe  how  and 
upon  what  he  exercises  his  creative  powers.  Into 
his  ideal  they  desire  to  enter  and  to  go  sympa- 
thetically with  the  author  on  his  way,  assisting  in 
the  construction,  participating  in  the  creation. 
They  will  demand  good  company,  not  bad,  and 
their  judgment  of  the  author's  personality  will  be 
formed  by  the  expression  of  thought  and  feeling 
in  the  language  before  them. 

These  suggestions  lead  up  to  a  much  broader 
question,  into  which  merge  all  these  queries  re- 
specting morality  and  art  which  we  have  been  dis- 
cussing— perhaps  at  too  great  a  length.  This  is 
the  general  treatment  of  evil  and  good  with  respect 
13 


194 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


to  each  other  in  the  plan  of  a  story.  The  settle- 
ment of  this  question  really  disposes  of  most  of 
the  others,  which  are  subordinate. 

At  the  present  writing  I  have  before  me  two 
newspaper  articles,  one  entitled  "  The  Literature 
of  Discontent,"  *  the  other  a  criticism  of  M.  Paul 
Bourget's  "  Mensonges."f  Two  years  and  more 
apart,  the  burden  of  their  thought  is  the  same. 
They  both  connect,  as  if  necessarily,  erotic  litera- 
ture and  what  the  first-named  writer  has  styled 
that  of  discontent.  They  both  lament  the  prevail- 
ing pessimistic  character  of  fiction.  The  first, 
speaking  of  modern  novelists,  says :  "  There  is  an 
increasing  tendency  to  regard  the  earth  as  a  prison- 
house,  and  existence,  in  the  words  of  Edgar  Saltus, 
as  '  an  immense,  an  unnecessary  affliction  ' — until 
the  only  wise  course  seems  to  be  to  find  the  edge 
of  the  world  and  jump  off  into  space. 

"  With  one  class  of  thinkers  the  influence  of  the 
age  produces  a  curious  kind  of  paralysis ;  and  of 
this  class  Amiel,  whose  journal  is  one  of  the  sad- 
dest books  of  our  time,  stands  as  the  type. 

"The  gloom  of  the  materialistic  writers  is  of 
another  nature  ;  it  is  the  revulsion  of  feeling  that 
follows  a  saturnalia — disgust  after  debauch.  De- 
claring that  man  has  no  to-morrow,  they  set  to  work 

*  New  York  Star,  February,  1890. 

f  New  York  Tribune,  November  27,  1887. 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  195 

in  their  own  fashion  to  make  the  most  of  to-day. 
Ignoring  everything  in  human  nature  that  aspires, 
they  worship  the  beast  in  man — the  '  man-swine  ' 
wallowing  in  the  mire. 

"  Everywhere  they  show  us  '  sense-quenching 
soul.'  They  turn  their  eyes  from  the  rainbow 
vision  written  across  the  skies  to  the  filth  of  the 
pig-sty,  and  say :  '  This  is  all  of  life.'  The  strug- 
gle for  existence,  as  represented  by  them,  is  not 
like  the  battling  of  wild  beasts,  which  has  at  least 
the  savage  nobility  of  strength,  but  rather  like  the 
horrible  writhing  and  rending  of  the  lowest  forms 
of  life,  seen  through  the  microscope.  In  common 
consistency,  these  wise  men  should  be  happy;  yet 
their  to-day,  for  all  its  clatter,  is  not  even  merry. 
Pleasures  and  dissipations  and  all  of  the  ingenu- 
ities of  vice  outworn,  at  last  we  find  them  sitting, 
grim  and  gray,  amid  the  debris  of  the  feast,  mut- 
tering complaints  against  the  emptiness  and  hol- 
lowness  of  life." 

The  other  writer  observes :  "  The  modern  psy- 
chologic novelist  believes  in  nothing  but  the  per- 
sistence of  evil.  There  is  neither  faith  nor  virtue 
in  man  or  woman  for  him.  Everything  is  for  the 
worst  in  the  worst  possible  world.  The  heavens 
are  brass  and  the  earth  iron.  What  the  old  profli- 
gate, Jean  de  Meung,  wrote  about  women  in  the 
fourteenth  century  is  reproduced,  only  in  a  more 
polished  form,  at  the  close  of  the  nineteenth.  It 
is  the  credo  of  the  French  romancer,  whether 


I96  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

psychologist  or  realist.  And  what  is  the  goal  to 
which  all  this  tends  ?  There  is  no  thought  of  a 
higher  life.  There  is  no  feeling  after  spiritual  de- 
velopment. The  conception  of  severe  suffering 
experienced  on  the  fleshly  plane  never  suggests 
the  ascent  of  the  soul  to  a  loftier  eminence  and  a 
purer  atmosphere." 

He  then  expresses  the  following  conclusions: 
"Surely  this  is  a  literature  alike  depressing  and 
demoralizing,  a  literature  in  which  false  psychol- 
ogy masquerades  in  company  with  false  morals 
and  false  art ;  a  literature  unfaithful  to  the  foun- 
dation principles  of  art,  in  fact,  since  it  turns  its 
back  at  once  upon  the  beautiful  and  the  true." 

While  there  is  danger  of  applying  the  above 
remarks  to  a  greater  number  of  books  and  authors 
than  the  facts  warrant,  there  is  no  doubt  that  they 
properly  characterize  the  color  and  tone  of  many 
modern  novels.  But  though  the  erotic  and  the 
pessimistic  are  frequently  associated,  as  in  M. 
Bourget's  works,  the  latter  is  found  without  the 
former,  as  in  Turgenieff  s  stories,  and  the  former 
without  the  latter,  as  in  "  Mademoiselle  de  Mau- 
pin."  Any  philosophy  which  lays  great  stress 
on  seizing  the  enjoyments  of  to-day  implies  want 
of  faith  in  the  to-morrow.  Moreover,  the  excess 
apt  to  follow  when  one  acts  on  these  ideas  pro- 
duces an  exhaustion  which  issues  in  hopelessness 
and  despair.  But  such  despair  may  come  from 
other  reasons.  The  pessimism  of  the  Russian 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  197 

writers  arises,  doubtless,  from  the  political  and 
social  conditions  of  their  country.  Balzac  cer- 
tainly does  not  exhibit  a  very  hopeful  or  exhilar- 
ating prospect  of  human  life,  unless,  perhaps,  when 
he  gets  to  "Louis  Lambert"  and  "  Seraphita ; " 
but  he  shows  the  workings  of  all  sorts  of  passions 
besides  the  erotic.  M.  de  Maupassant,  on  the 
other  hand,  deals  almost  wholly,  one  might  even 
say,  with  sexual  relations,  and  he  is  also  a  pessi- 
mist. The  erotic  mania  is,  however,  not  the  sole 
cause  of  pessimism,  which  may  develop  from  the 
indulgence  of  strong  promptings  of  appetite,  from 
the  sense  of  one's  inability  to  realize  ideals,  from 
failure  of  effort,  and  from  oppressive  conditions 
of  life  of  any  sort. 

It  is  clear  enough  that  oftentimes  the  feeling  of 
the  omnipresence  and  omnipotence  of  evil  pos- 
sesses the  human  mind,  and  with  many  people  it 
is  always  the  case  that  "  the  heavens  are  brass  and 
the  earth  iron."  But  how  should  the  artist  look 
upon  these  conditions,  and  what  are  his  relations 
to  them  ?  For  one,  I  am  strongly  of  the  opinion 
expressed  in  the  criticism  of  "Mensonges"  just 
quoted,  that  the  pessimistic  plan  in  a  novel  is 
"  unfaithful  to  the  foundation  principles  of  art, 
.  .  .  since  it  turns  its  back  at  once  upon  the 
beautiful  and  the  true."  The  field  of  art  is  not 
restricted  to  what  is,  but  the  whole  region  of  the 
possible  is  opened  up  to  the  artist.  It  is  for  him 
to  create,  and  those  who  are  to  look  upon  his 


193 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


work  will  always  expect  his  creation  to  be  some- 
thing which  they  can  appreciate  and  enjoy  as 
satisfying  their  own  ideals  of  improvement  on 
present  conditions.  The  great  majority  of  read- 
ers of  a  novel,  those  who  form  public  opinion  at 
least,  are  bound  to  say:  Since  life  is  full  of  care 
and  trouble,  and  since  there  is  a  possible  world 
better  than  what  we  experience,  into  which  you, 
the  artist,  if  you  be  an  artist,  may  enter;  intro- 
duce us  within,  and  make  for  us  a  society  that 
shall  be  a  refreshing  contrast  to  that  of  which  we 
are  a  part.  Give  us  examples  of  the  best  in  hu- 
man nature,  not  the  worst.  If  our  atmosphere  be 
murky  with  evil,  lift  us  up  into  a  clearer  air,  which 
shall  invigorate  us  as  we  breathe  it,  making  .us 
more  buoyant  and  hopeful.  What  use  have  we 
for  books  which  merely  recall  the  sordid  and  tire- 
some struggle  into  which  we  are  forced  in  our 
business  or  social  activity?  We  want  to  be  taken 
away  from  that  to  behold  something  charming, 
delightful,  and  exhilarating ! 

These  sentiments  are  not  only  natural,  but  they 
are  much  more  universal  than  novel-writers  seem 
to  suppose.  Moreover,  they  express  a  correct 
idea  of  art.  A  story  which  "  leaves  a  bad  taste  in 
the  mouth,"  a  tale  which  wearies  and  depresses, 
is  deficient  on  the  artistic  side.  It  is  a  work  in 
which  an  essential  principle  of  art  is  ignored  or 
violated — namely,  the  minimizing  of  the  disagree- 
able. If,  however,  that  principle  be  observed,  it 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  199 

will  atone  for  a  great  many  artistic  defects.  E.  P. 
Roe  saw  this,  and  that  is  one  secret  of  the  success 
of  his  writings.  He  says,  in  a  review  article :  * 
"  The  elements  of  light  and  hopefulness  are  essen- 
tial to  a  living  novel.  There  may  be  plenty  of 
tragedy, but  this  should  be  shadow  in  the  picture; 
and  no  true,  pleasing  picture  can  be  painted  in 
black  or  in  lurid  reds  alone.  A  story  cannot  hold 
a  large  place  among  the  living  which  leaves  an 
unredeemed  impression  of  horror  or  even  of  de- 
spondency." "  If  it  leaves  them  (the  readers)  more 
relaxed  morally,  more  disheartened  and  hopeless, 
no  art  can  save  the  story  in  their  estimation." 
To  such  testimony  let  me  add  a  word  from  Pro- 
fessor Boyesen :  f  "  Art  can  engage  in  no  better 
pursuit  than  to  stimulate  noble  and  healthful 
thought  on  all  matters  of  human  concern,  and 
thereby  clear  the  prejudiced  mind  and  raise  the 
average  of  human  happiness." 

The  novel  must  revivify.  It  must  quicken  like 
the  sunlight.  It  must  rejoice  one  like  the  cool, 
delicious  breeze.  It  must  inspire  like  the  face  and 
conversation  of  an  admirable  friend.  It  must  lead 
us  out  from  aridity  into  green  pastures.  If  it 
makes  us  sorrowful,  it  must  also  give  us  solace  to 
relieve  our  suffering.  If  it  exhibit  terrible  things, 
it  must  at  the  same  time  make  our  souls  strong 
to  bear  them,  and  fill  us  with  the  courage  to  resist 

*  The  Forum.  f  Ibid. 


200  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

evil.  Unless  it  accomplish  these  results,  it  is  not 
a  work  of  the  best  art.  "  Art  has  for  its  highest 
function  to  satisfy  our  emotions  by  an  ideal  pre- 
sentment of  life."  * 

But  once  more  comes  forward  our  scientific  ad- 
vocate, who  reminds  us  of  the  advantages  of  a 
knowledge  of  evil  as  well  as  of  good.  We  must 
treat  him  with  respect,  for  he  has  a  considerable 
power  of  argument  on  his  side.  Yet  it  seems  to 
me  he  cannot  overcome  our  contention  that  science 
in  the  novel  is  not  good  enough  science,  and  tends 
to  spoil  art.  It  is,  however,  true  that  we  are  not 
able  to  obtain  accurate  pictures  of  individual  char- 
acter and  social  conditions  anywhere  save  in  fiction. 
M.  Zola's  works  have  a  scientific  value.  It  is  not 
to  be  regretted  that  they  exist.  The  difficulty  is, 
being  successful,  they  establish  a  fashion  in  litera- 
ture which  is  pernicious.  Every  tyro  in  fiction- 
writing  thinks  he  must  imitate  them.  Now,  if  all 
story-writers  were  Zolas,  the  art  of  fiction  would 
straightway  perish.  Everything  runs  to  extremes  ; 
to  regulate  and  balance  is  hard.  If  once  we  get 
into  the  way  of  thinking  that  the  study  of  social 
facts  means  the  unpleasant  ones,  that  analysis  of 
character  means  only  hunting  for  the  sensual,  the 
ignoble,  and  the  pessimistic,  we  shall  be  losing  the 
best  things  of  life,  which  lie  all  around  us  if  we 
would  only  observe  and  use  them.  We  shall,  in- 

*  James  Sully,  The  Forum,  August,  1890. 


ART,  MORALS,  AND  SCIENCE.  20 1 

deed,  be  turning  our  backs  on  the  beautiful  and 
the  true. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  feared  that  many  of  those 
who  make  use  of  scientific  claims  as  justification 
for  "  naturalistic  "  writing  are  not  sincere.  They 
are  glad  of  an  excuse  to  dwell  on  subjects  they 
like  to  contemplate,  but  which  would  be  eschewed 
by  people  of  better  taste.  If  this  be  slanderous, 
it  may  at  least  be  said  that  they  have  very  super- 
ficial ideas  of  what  science  is.  They  do  not  pur- 
sue the  true  scientific  methods  with  any  thorough- 
ness. This  was  remarked  in  Chapter  VI.,  and  this 
I  must  again  and  here  impress.  They  do  not 
disclose  the  light  side,  which  exists  just  as  truly 
as  the  dark.  They  omit  redeeming  features ; 
they  do  not  recognize  the  healthy  forces,  but 
only  the  disease-producing.  In  painting  a  picture 
of  social  life  they  use  only  the  lurid  reds  and  the 
dark  colors.  If  we  may  not  bring  a  like  charge 
against  all  the  "  naturalists,"  such  is  the  prevailing 
tendency  of  many  of  them.  They  do  not  give  a 
scientific  account,  because  they  do  not  show  evil 
and  good  in  society,  or  the  individual,  in  their  true 
relations.  They  never  find  the  soul  of  goodness 
in  things  evil.  They  look  upon  the  aspect  of  dis- 
solution rather  than  on  that  of  evolution.  Their 
work  is  scientifically  imperfect.  The  nature  of 
their  task  is  such  that  they  must  use  their  selec- 
tive faculties.  They  must  form  a  plan  and  adapt 
materials  to  it.  When  this  is  done  under  a  false 


202  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION'. 

ideal,  which  ignores  the  governing  principles  of 
art,  there  results  a  composition  which  is  neither 
one  thing  nor  the  other ;  satisfying  neither  the 
scientific  nor  the  aesthetic  sentiments. 

The  only  true  theory  of  the  novel  is  that  which 
places  the  artistic  foremost.  But  the  truly  great 
artist  is  he  who  has  the  noblest  and  best  ideals. 
These  can  alone  exist  in  a  mind  broad  and  pro- 
found ;  in  a  character  loving  truth,  having  a  ful- 
ness of  moral  sentiment,  possessing  a  tender  sym- 
pathy with  human  wants,  and  an  unquenchable 
faith  in  the  eternal  and  immortal — not  indeed  as 
defined  by  formulas  and  creeds,  but  as  an  ever- 
living,  inexhaustible  source  of  creative  power,  in 
the  exercise  of  which  man  by  labor  and  aspiration 
may  participate.  Then  over  and  beyond  the  dis- 
mal prospect  of  the  world's  woe  rises  always  the 
vision  of  the  heavens  we  would  construct,  and 
which,  when  we  lift  up  our  eyes  to  their  glories, 
draw  us  unto  them.  It  is  in  the  presence  of  a  soul 
forever  seeing  such  visions  that  we  behold  the 
great  artist.  When  in  the  Medicean  chapel  we 
gaze  upon  the  four  "  ineffable  figures  "  that  sym- 
bolize together  the  weariness  and  the  hope  of  hu- 
manity, the  sleep  and  the  resurrection,  the  dawn 
following  the  darkness,  we  stand  in  awe,  thinking 
not  of  the  incompleteness  of  the  work.  Realism 
it  is,  but  it  is  "  transfigured  realism  "  ;  and  we  go 
forth  admiring  and  fearing,  knowing  that  we  have 
been  face  to  face  with  the  work  of  sublime  creative 


ART,  MORALS,  AND   SCIENCE.  203 

genius,  understanding  that  it  is  such  because  it 
takes  hold  of  the  imperishable,  links  our  souls  to 
the  divine,  and  speaks  to  us  with  that  voice  of 
power  whose  utterances,  as  Sophocles  says,  "  are 
not  of  to-day,  nor  of  yesterday,  and  no  man  can 
tell  when  they  came."  * 

He  who  would  become  a  novelist,  therefore, 
should  understand  that  when  he  has  made  himself 
great  enough  and  good  enough,  he  will  write  good 
novels.  He  will  have  a  message  to  communicate 
to  his  fellows,  and  that  may  be  through  a  very 
simple  plan  and  the  use  of  very  commonplace 
materials.  But  in  his  hands  they  will,  perchance, 
not  be  commonplace.  He  will  not  be  troubled 
over  questions  of  realism  or  romanticism,  nor 
need  he  concern  himself  much  about  morality  or 
immorality  ;  he  will  be  moral  despite  himself.  It 
will  matter  little  whether  or  not  he  introduce 
murderers  or  mistresses.  He  can  create  Hydes 
as  well  as  Jekylls.  He  will  have  the  freedom  of  a 
clear  head  and  a  sound  heart.  Says  Arr£at : 
"  Une  oeuvre  vraiment  belle,  en  somme,  est  une 
oeuvre  SAINE."  f  But  if  he  would  preserve  his 
liberty,  he  must  not  forget  that  his  readers  ex- 
pect to  be  cheered,  inspired,  and  improved  by  his 
books.  As  Mr.  Sully  says :  He  must  give  the 
predominant  place  to  "what  is  lovely  and  of  good 
report ;  the  aspects  of  character  and  experience 

*  "  Antigone  "  :  456. 

f  "  In  fine,  a  work  truly  beautiful  is  a  healthy  work." 


204  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

which  gladden  the  imagination,  and  by  gladdening 
it,  inspire  hope  and  faith."  * 

We  may  assert,  in  the  language  of  M.  David- 
Sauvageot,f  that  pessimism  is  "  un  dtsordre  artis- 
tique  dont  la  cause  est  assez  souvent  un  dtsordre 
moral ;  "  and  we  may  be  quite  sure  that  the  poet's 
words  express  true  philosophy : 

'•  That  Beauty,  Good,  and  Knowledge  are  three  sisters, 
That  dote  upon  each  other,  friends  to  man, 
Living  together  under  the  same  roof, 
And  never  can  be  sundered  without  tears."  J 

*  The  Forum,  August,  1890. 

\  "  Le  Realisme  et  le  Naturalisme,"  etc. — "  An  artistic  disorder 
of  which  the  cause  is  too  frequently  a  moral  disease." 
J  Tennyson. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE   CONSTRUCTION   OF  A   WORK   OF   FICTION. 

IT  would  be  presumptuous  for  me  to  lay  down 
law  to  the  masters  of  fiction-writing  with  regard 
to  the  practice  of  their  own  art.  Many  of  these 
writers  have  given  the  world  theories  as  well  as 
examples  of  how,  in  their  judgment,  novels  should 
be  constructed.  Since  I  have  never  entered  into 
this  field  of  literary  composition,  it  would  no  doubt 
be  just,  in  case  I  should  attempt  to  give  directions, 
if  some  experienced  writer  should  rebuke  me  as 
Napoleon  did  the  too  eager  youth  at  Jena  :  "  Wait 
till  you  have  commanded  in  twenty  pitched  bat- 
tles before  you  presume  to  offer  advice."  It  prob- 
ably would  not  be  necessary  for  me  to  write  twenty 
novels  in  order  to  entitle  me  to  express  an  opinion 
as  to  what  sort  of  construction  is  likely  to  please 
a  reader.  If  reading  novels,  however,  will  com- 
pensate for  failing  to  write  them,  in  affording 
knowledge  which  suffices  for  the  purposes  of  crit- 
ical suggestion,  I  can  probably  qualify.  But  I 
shall  certainly  be  as  modest  as  my  nature  will 
allow  in  treating  the  special  topic  at  the  head  of 
this  chapter.  I  shall  only  venture  to  make  a  few 


206  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

desultory  remarks  which  occur  to  me  as  a  proper 
supplement  to  what  has  been  already  advanced  in 
the  preceding  pages. 

In  the  first  place,  it  seems  quite  evident  that  the 
short-story  is  likely  to  become  increasingly  more 
favored  by  the  reading  public.  A  number  of 
causes  combine  to  produce  this  result.  People 
in  active  business  who  like  to  read  have  not  the 
time  for  anything  which  requires  a  long  sitting. 
If  the  story  reaches  beyond  the  limit,  there  is 
no  telling  when  the  next  opportunity  will  occur ; 
the  thread  of  connection  is  broken,  the  interest 
is  abated,  and  a  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  ensues, 
making  the  reader  reluctant  to  take  up  a  book 
which  will  need  for  its  perusal  more  than  one 
session.  These  difficulties  present  themselves  in 
their  extreme  form  in  the  serial,  that  abomination 
of  magazine  literature.  Since  such  productions 
appear,  they  are  doubtless  acceptable  to  some,  or 
the  editors  would  stop  them.  The  fact,  however, 
that  a  serial  story  can  be  endured  makes  us  won- 
der what  sort  of  people  there  are  in  this  world  of 
ours,  and  gives  one  a  very  profound  impression  of 
the  infinite  and  amazing  variety  exemplified  in  the 
development  of  the  human  mind.  The  English 
three-volume  custom  is  another  outrage  on  read- 
ers. Still,  such  novels  are  read  mostly  by  those 
who  have  been  educated  down  to  them  ;  and  men 
can  be  trained  to  endure  anything,  and  say  they 
like  it,  too. 


CONSTRUCTION  OF  A    WORK  OF  FICTION. 


207 


Not  only  is  there  lack  of  time  to  read,  but  there 
is  less  time  to  read  novels,  than  formerly.  By  this 
I  mean  that  the  multiplication  of  books,  periodi- 
cals, and  newspapers  has  produced  a  great  increase 
of  works  in  all  departments  of  literature.  The 
opportunities  exist  for  a  wider  range  in  the 
reader's  choice  as  to  what  he  shall  spend  his  time 
upon.  News,  travels,  essays,  history,  science,  art — 
all  are  afforded,  to  him  in  great  abundance.  And 
not  only  is  the  quantity  of  works  in  these  depart- 
ments increasing,  but  the  quality  is  improving.  A 
higher  cultivation  demands  that  all  such  books  be 
made  interesting.  The  artistic  form  is  necessitated 
more  and  more  in  all  literary  productions.  Hence 
we  have  science  popularized,  essays  made  enter- 
taining, and  even  philosophy  made  readable — but 
on  this  last  topic  I  prefer  not  to  dwell !  The  nov- 
elist of  the  present  day  has,  then,  no  monopoly 
in  the  business  of  furnishing  interesting  reading. 
If,  in  the  delusion  that  he  has,  he  recklessly  ex- 
pands his  works,  as  members  of  his  guild  did  not 
hesitate  to  do  fifty  years  ago,  he  will  soon  come  to 
be  regarded  as  a  nuisance  and  find  none  so  poor 
as  to  do  him  reverence.  These  millennial  days  of 
public  opinion,  it  must  be  confessed,  have  not  yet 
arrived,  but  the  early  dawn  is  visible  at  any  rate, 
and  story-writers  should  be  wise  in  time.  Even  if 
the  signs  are  wrong,  and  it  is  only  the  false  dawn, 
the  real  one  is  sure  to  follow. 

From  the   same   considerations,  it    further   ap- 


208  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

pears  that  a  diminished  length  of  the  story  is  not 
all  that  is  required.  Mr.  Brander  Matthews  * 
urges  that  there  is  a  distinct  difference  between 
the  short-story  and  the  story  which  is  merely 
short.  The  chief  requisites  of  the  former  "  are 
compression,  originality,  ingenuity,  and  now  and 
again  a  touch  of  fantasy."  This  is  to  say,  after 
all,  that  people,  in  their  gratitude  to  an  author 
for  making  his  story  short,  will  not  think  it  good 
solely  because  it  is  not  so  long  as  it  might  have 
been.  It  must,  in  addition,  be  striking  and  inter- 
esting. It  must  be  well  made.  Mr.  Matthews 
admits  that  the  "  short-story  and  the  sketch,  the 
novel  and  the  romance  melt  and  merge  one  into 
the  other,  and  no  man  may  mete  the  boundaries 
of  each,  though  their  extremes  lie  far  apart." 
We  may  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  short- 
story,  as  Mr.  Matthews  defines  it,  will  eventually 
supersede  the  other  varieties  of  fiction  composi- 
tion, but  we  may  assert  that  the  reading  public 
will  more  and  more  require  stories  which  are 
short,  and  among  these  the  short-story  will  always 
find  favor.  If,  however,  novels  proper  be  written, 
we  cannot  dispense  with  that  same  "  compression, 
originality,  and  ingenuity"  which  are  necessary  for 
the  short-story. 

In  this  view,  two  modern  writers  may,  perhaps, 
be  selected  as  models  for  construction,  so  far  as 

*  "  Philosophy  of  the  Short-Story." 


CONSTRUCTION  OF  A    WORK  OF  FICTION. 


209 


form  and  method  are  concerned,  leaving  out  sub- 
ject-matter and  idiosyncrasies  of  style.  These 
are  Turg£nieff  and  M.  Guy  de  Maupassant.  In 
neither  of  these  is  there  anything  superfluous.  (I 
do  not  speak  of  some  of  the  earlier  tales  of  the 
last-named,  every  word  of  which,  including  the 
title,  is  superfluous.)  But  the  unity  of  the  com- 
position in  most  of  their  stories  is  clear  and  satis- 
fying. The  art  of  compression  they  have  learned 
perfectly.  He  would  be  of  a  strange  mental 
nature  who  would  be  bored  by  either.  Their 
tales  present  each  a  picture,  with  well-coordinated 
and  organically  related  parts.  Hence,  their  stories 
hold  the  attention  of  the  reader  concentrated, 
and  make  the  impression  upon  him  of  a  distinct 
and  finished  work  of  art.  Their  excellence  in  this 
respect  is  very  plainly  seen  by  a  contrast  with 
Tolstoi,  for  example,  in  some  of  his  productions. 
"  Anna  Kar£nina  "  is  a  good  one  to  take.  ,  This  is 
really  two  novels  in  one.  It  is  a  history  of  the 
Karenin  family  and  of  the  Levin  family.  To 
give  my  own  experience  with  the  book :  I  discov- 
ered this  fact  early  in  the  reading,  and  found  that, 
by  omitting  the  chapters  pertaining  chiefly  to  the 
Levins,  I  could  follow  the  thread  of  the  Karenin 
fortunes  to  the  end  without  any  hiatus  being  ob- 
servable. This  I  did,  and  then  returned  to  read 
the  Levin  story.  Of  course  the  contrasts  between 
the  characters  and  the  lives  of  the  two  families 
are  instructive,  but  the  incidents  are  not  so  inter- 
14 


210  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

woven  as  to  form  a  single,  unified  work  of  art. 
In  the  progress  of  reading,  one  frequently  feels 
like  saying,  as  Rudyard  Kipling  does,  when  in  his 
tales  he  strikes  upon  some  incident  foreign  to  his 
immediate  purpose  of  narration,  "  But  that  is 
another  story ;  "  and  wishing  that  the  author  had 
postponed  telling  it  till  another  time.  Precisely 
the  same  fault  is  found  in  Mr.  Henry  James's 
"  Tragic  Music,"  and  it  often  occurs  in  litera- 
ture. 

The  lack  of  simplicity  in  the  plan  of  a  novel  is 
a  great  drawback  to  its  perfection.  In  former 
times  it  seems  as  if  complexity  of  incident  and  a 
succession  of  startling  events  were  deemed  abso- 
lutely essential  to  interest.  This  was  a  part  of 
the  philosophy  of  the  romanticists.  It  was  not  so 
long  ago  that  George  Sand  was  in  vogue.  Admi- 
rable as  she  is  in  many  respects,  after  acquaintance 
with  such  writers  as  Turg£nieff  and  M.  de  Mau- 
passant, what  ill-jointed,  roughly  constructed,  half- 
done  productions  her  stories  appear  to  be  !  A  tale 
of  Turgenieff  is  a  perfect  marble  statue ;  a  story 
of  George  Sand,  by  comparison,  a  manikin  of 
papier  mackt !  The  readers  of  "  Consuelo  "  will 
remember  how  the  author  racked  their  nerves, 
until  they  were  fairly  in  agony,  with  an  intermi- 
nable series  of  adventures,  enough  for  a  dozen 
novels.  Then,  not  content  with  this,  she  writes  a 
sequel  to  the  tale — the  "  Countess  of  Rudolstadt." 
From  such  novel-writers,  good  Lord,  deliver  us ! 


CONSTRUCTION  OF  A    WORK  OF  FICTION.    211 

The  principle  of  unity  and  simplicity  forbids 
diffuseness  in  description  of  scenes,  of  places,  or 
of  persons.  Ouida's  "  In  Maremma  "  Mr.  Edgar 
Fawcett  calls  "a  tale  of  matchless  grace  and 
sweetness."  So  it  is  ;  but  it  would  have  been 
infinitely  better  if  the  author  had  spared  us  the 
endless  and  tiresome  repetition  of  description  of 
"  the  sultry  heavens,"  "  the  torpid  sea,"  "  the  gray 
sky  parched  with  mists  of  intense  heat,"  "  the 
fever  fog,"  and  "  the  glaring  sands."  Let  the 
reader  study  Charles  Reade's  "  Cloister  and  the 
Hearth,"  and  note  the  difference.  The  fault  of 
long  narrative  accounts  of  characters  instead  of 
making  them  reveal  themselves  by  speech  and 
action  is  not  now  very  common  among  writers 
of  reputation ;  but  when  it  occurs  it  is  a  serious 
blemish,  because,  if  the  work  were  well  done,  it  is 
quite  unnecessary  and  is  at  best  a  clumsy  method 
of  portrayal. 

Again,  the  artistic  effect  is  much  impaired  by 
the  introduction  of  homilies,  disquisitions,  argu- 
ments, and  speculations,  not  required  by  the  plan 
of  work.  Bulwer's  "  Strange  Story  "  has  many 
pages  of  this  sort  of  digression  which  is  exceed- 
ingly injurious  to  the  force  of  the  tale.  He  even 
argues  in  foot-notes  for  the  probability  of  what  he 
states  in  the  text.  What  a  refreshing  contrast  to 
this  is  Mr.  Stevenson's  "  Jekyll  and  Hyde,"  a 
most  admirably  constructed  story,  in  which  artistic 
requirements  are  perfectly  fulfilled  and  the  readers 


212  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

feel  no  lack  of  information  or  explanation  as  to 
the  subject-matter.  A  still  worse  kind  of  perver- 
sion of  the  novel  occurs  where  the  moralizing  and 
philosophizing  are  the  main  thing,  the  story  being 
subordinated  thereto.  Balzac's  "  Seraphita  "  is  an 
example  in  point,  though  it  must  be  confessed  he 
has  clothed  his  Swedenborgian  philosophy  with 
beautiful  drapery.  Yet  the  long  expositions  of 
Swedenborg,  and  commentaries  on  his  ideas,  are 
tiresome  and  quite  unnecessary.  So  in  Tolstoi's 
"  Kreutzer  Sonata,"  one  reads  with  the  prevailing 
consciousness  that  the  murder  of  the  wife  is  only 
a  device  to  hold  the  attention  while  the  author 
throws  at  you  his  nauseating  moralizing.  Even 
M.  de  Maupassant  has  done  this  same  thing,  once 
at  least,  in  "  L'Inutile  BeauteV'  where  he  gives  one 
chapter  of  digression,  for  the  sake  of  philosophiz- 
ing on  sexual  relations  ;  but  he  is  short  and  concise, 
and  under  such  conditions  a  writer  may  sometimes 
be  forgiven  for  the  fault  of  which  I  have  been 
speaking.  In  fine,  we  must  agree  with  Seftor 
Val6ra,  when  he  exclaims  in  the  preface  of  "  Pe- 
pita  Ximenez " :  "I  think  it  in  very  bad  taste, 
always  impertinent,  and  often  pedantic,  to  attempt 
to  prove  theses  by  writing  stories.  For  such  a 
purpose  dissertations  or  books  purely  and  severely 
didactic  should  be  written." 

In  the  light  of  the  foregoing  considerations  we 
may  enunciate  as  the  first  rule  of  fiction  construc- 
tion : 


CONSTRUCTION  OF  A    WORK  OF  FICTION. 


213 


1 .  Form  a  plan  of  something  distinct  and  definite 
to  be  done. 

To  this  I  should  add  two  more  rules,  namely : 

2.  Do  that  and  nothing  else  in  each  case. 

3.  Do  it  well. 

If  these  rules  be  very  general,  they  are  not,  I ' 
trust,  meaningless  from  vagueness.  The  first  and 
second  have  perhaps  been  sufficiently  illustrated  ; 
but  if  the  reader  cares  to  turn  back  to  Chapter  VI., 
at  page  79,  he  will  find  in  a  quotation  from  an 
article  by  Mr.  Stevenson,  the  second  rule  em- 
phasized. To  what  is  said  there  may  be  added 
another  passage  from  the  same  article :  "  Our  art 
is  occupied,  and  bound  to  be  occupied,  not  so 
much  in  making  stories  true  as  in  making  them 
typical ;  not  so  much  in  capturing  the  lineaments 
of  each  fact,  as  in  marshalling  all  of  them  toward 
a  common  end." 

Apropos  of  forming  the  plan,  just  a  word  more 
may  be  said  upon  the  choice  of  subjects,  which  is 
to  call  attention  again  to  the  greater  chances  of  suc- 
cess afforded  to  him  who  is  a  close  observer  of  the 
signs  of  the  times,  and  quick  to  understand  and 
sympathize  with  current  intellectual  and  social 
movements.  He  must  comprehend  the  prevail- 
ing "  world-mood  "  of  his  own  constituency.  This 
changes  frequently,  and  what  will  be  received  to- 
day may  not  be  to-morrow.  Those  who  depict 
contemporary  life,  if  they  are  thorough  students, 
are  most  certain  to  produce  stories  of  a  high  qual- 


214 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 


ity  of  interest  at  the  time  they  are  published, 
which,  in  the  case  of  a  novel,  is  necessary  to  its 
permanent  recognition.  "  The  first  object  of  a 
novelist,"  remarks  Bulwer,  "  is  to  interest  the 
reader ;  the  next  object  is  the  quality  of  the  in- 
terest. Interest  in  his  story  is  essential,  or  he  will 
not  be  read ;  but  if  the  quality  of  the  interest  is 
not  high,  he  will  not  be  read  a  second  time.  And 
if  he  be  not  read  a  second  time  by  his  own  con- 
temporaries, the  chance  is  he  will  not  be  read  once 
by  posterity." 

The  fact  that  they  have  accurately  grasped  the 
underlying  motives  of  contemporaneous  life,  and 
thus  been  able  to  picture  it  vividly,  has  insured 
success  to  writers  widely  different  in  mental  con- 
stitution, in  tastes,  and  spheres  of  observation. 
People  would  not  be  apt  to  compare  Disraeli, 
Turg£nieff,  and  Dr.  Edward  Eggleston ;  yet  each, 
within  his  own  field  of  observation,  has  success- 
fully done  the  same  kind  of  work.  The  first  sur- 
veyed the  world  of  English  aristocratic  society; 
the  second,  the  Russian  middle  class  and  peas- 
antry ;  the  third,  the  life  of  American  communities 
in  the  West  in  their  formative  stages.  The  works 
of  all  three  have  attained  a  permanent  place  in  lit- 
erature. Of  Disraeli  it  has  been  justly  said  that 
his  novels  "  reflect  the  world  he  lived  in  and 
show  the  characteristics  of  its  society  as  no  novels 
have  done  since  then."  *  The  same  thing  is  per- 

*  Ouida  :  North  American  Review. 


CONSTRUCTION  OF  A    WORK  OF  FICTION. 


215 


fectly  true  of  the  others.  R£nan's  beautiful  fu- 
neral tribute  to  Turgenieff  expresses  the  complete- 
ness of  that  author's  understanding  of  his  own 
people,  wherein  he  refers  to  Turgenieff  as  "  the 
incarnation  of  a  whole  race."  And  what  Mr. 
Henry  James  said  of  the  great  Russian  is  appli- 
cable to  the  others  as  well,  and  to  all  those  writers 
who  have  written  successful  stories  portraying 
phases  of  contemporary  life.  "  This  is  the  strength 
of  his  representations  of  character:  .they  are  so 
strangely,  fascinatingly  particular,  and  yet  they 
are  so  recognizably  general."  *  To  this  we  may 
add  a  word  from  the  Marquise  Lanza's  "  Plea  for 
the  National  Element  in  American  Fiction ":f  "It 
is,  moreover,  a  significant  truth,  that  every  really 
great  writer  of  fiction  the  world  has  ever  seen,  not 
only  has  expressed  a  wide  and  tender  sympathy 
with  all  humanity,  so  to  speak,  but  has  persistently 
emulated  in  his  work  the  national  character  he  is 
fitted  to  comprehend." 

Now,  as  to  the  third  rule  of  construction,  Do  it 
well,  I  have  no  more  to  say  than  I  have  already 
said.  I  am  afraid  of  the  criticism  of  the  masters, 
who  would  see  my  weakness,  and  find  out  too 
thoroughly  that,  though  I  may  preach,  I  cannot 
practise.  Hence  my  precepts  would  be  despised. 
I  would  rather  refer  the  reader  to  such  passages  of 
Ruskin  as  I  quoted  at  the  beginning  of  Chapter  VI. ; 

*  "  Partial  Portraits  "  :  Ivan  Turgenieff. 
f  Cosmopolitan  Magazine,  August,  1890, 


2i6  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

to  the  hints  given  in  our  discussion  of  Realism  and 
Idealism  throughout  that  chapter  ;  to  Mr.  Walter 
Besant's  "Art  of  Fiction,"  and  Mr.  Henry  James's 
comments  thereon ;  to  Mr.  Stevenson's  article  ; 
to  Val6ra  and  Valdez  ;  and,  above  all,  to  the  preface 
of  "  Pierre  et  Jean,"  by  M.  de  Maupassant.  I 
ought  not  to  quote  this  last  further  than  I  have, 
but  I  know  of  nothing  more  admirable.  Fortunate 
would  it  be  for  our  novelists  if  they  all  had  had  a 
Flaubert  to  instruct,  to  restrain,  to  guide.  What 
wisdom  in  his  precepts  !  "  The  smallest  object 
contains  something  unknown.  Find  it."  "  What- 
ever be  the  thing  one  wishes  to  say,  there  is  only 
one  noun  to  express  it,  only  one  verb  to  give  it 
life,  only  one  adjective  to  qualify  it.  Search,  then, 
till  that  noun,  that  verb,  that  adjective,  are  dis- 
covered. Never  be  content  with  '  very  nearly '; 
never  have  recourse  to  tricks,  however  happy,  or 
to  buffooneries  of  language,  to  avoid  a  difficulty. 
We  can  interpret  and  describe  the  most  subtile 
things  if  we  bear  in  mind  the  verse  of  Boileau : 

"  '  D'un  mot  mis  en  sa  place  enseigna  le  pouvoir.'  "  * 

In  the  same  essay  there  is  one  other  injunction 
that  I  will  repeat  in  closing  this  chapter :  "  Keep 
on  working.  .  .  .  Talent  is  long  patience." 

*  Preface  of  "  Pierre  et  Jean." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE   CRITICISM    OF  A   WORK   OF  FICTION. 

IF  a  personal  reference  may  be  pardoned — in 
1884  the  present  writer  published  a  systematic 
work  on  Psychology,  in  two  large  octavo  volumes. 
This  book  was  noticed  extensively  in  England, 
also  in  America  and  on  the  Continent  of  Europe. 
There  were  reviews  whose  general  tone  was  favor- 
able, and  also  some  unfavorable.  In  most  of 
the  notices,  the  grounds  of  favor  or  disfavor  were 
stated.  Comparison  shows  that  every  feature  of 
the  work  condemned  by  any  one  was  praised  by 
some  one  else ;  while  many  things  spoken  of  as 
special  excellences  were  mentioned  by  others  as 
conspicuous  faults.  One  critic  thought  the  author 
was  weak  in  analysis,  but  strong  in  synthesis;  an- 
other reviewer  said  exactly  the  reverse.  One  was 
"  struck  by  the  thoroughly  popular  nature  of  the 
exposition  ;"  another  regards  it  as  very  "  abstruse 
and  tedious."  Still  another  speaks  of  the  writer 
as  "  too  modest ;  "  but  a  more  discerning  critic  sees 
through  him,  and  speaks  of  him  as  illustrating 
"  the  vanity  of  modesty."  One  reviewer  considers 
that  he  "  shows  hardly  a  sign  of  acquaintance  with 


2i8  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

modern  Continental  psychology ;  "  another,  that 
"  his  perfect  acquaintance  with  its  *  literature  is 
evident  on  every  page."  The  illustration  of  pleas- 
ures and  pains  by  literary  quotations  is  com- 
mended in  one  notice,  sneered  at  in  a  second,  and 
reprobated  as  unphilosophical  in  a  third.  Finally 
one  reviewer  observes  that  in  the  polemical  dis- 
cussion of  "intuitions"  and  "necessary  truths" 
the  author  appears  at  his  best ;  while  a  fellow 
critic  declares  they  have  no  place  in  the  book,  and 
are  of  no  value. 

What  can  an  author  think  of  himself  and  his 
book  after  reading  and  comparing  such  criticisms  ? 
It  must  be  remembered  that,  in  the  case  of  the 
work  in  question,  the  notices  were  supposably 
written  by  specialists,  familiar  with  the  subject, 
and  of  about  the  same  grade  of  competency.  If, 
under  such  circumstances,  such  a  contrariety  of 
opinion  was  developed,  what  can  we  expect  from 
the  criticism  of  works  of  fiction,  which  people  may 
and  generally  do  value  according  to  their  own 
tastes  and  fancies  of  style,  subject-matter,  moral- 
ity, or  anything  else,  without  study  or  reflection  ? 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  the  greater  part  of 
published  criticisms  of  novels  and  stories  is  mean- 
ingless. It  signifies  nothing  at  all,  though  often 
full  of  sound  and  fury.  It  abounds  in  adjective 
characterization,  which  indicates  the  emotions  of 

*  Psychological. 


CRITICISM  OF  A    WORK  OF  FICTION. 


219 


the  writer  but  conveys  no  ideas.  If  a  man  eat 
good  melon,  but,  being  unhealthy,  is  distressed 
thereby,  and  he  groans,  must  the  melon  at  once 
be  denounced  ?  Said  Lichtenberg,  the  German 
scientist :  "  If  a  head  and  a  book  come  into  col- 
lision and  a  hollow  sound  ensues,  must  this  neces- 
sarily be  attributed  to  the  book?"  If  I  read  in  a 
notice  merely  that  a  certain  tale  is  "  very  excel- 
lent "  or  "  very  poor,"  I  get  no  basis  for  any  intel- 
ligent judgment.  If  there  be  a  flux  of  disparag- 
ing adjectives,  I  may,  indeed,  be  led  unthinkingly 
to  sympathize  with  the  writer's  feeling,  as  I  would 
with  the  impassioned  harangues  of  the  political 
assembly,  or  the  exhortations  of  a  Moody-and- 
Sankey  meeting.  In  this  I  may  do  great  injustice 
to  the  writer.  My  prejudice  harms  him  and  pre- 
vents me  from  gaining  knowledge,  thereby  injur- 
ing me  as  well.  But  this  style  of  criticism  is  much 
more  common  than  any  better  one.  It  substitutes 
inflammatory  words  for  thought.  Its  effect  is 
that  of  the  tom-tom  or  the  war-dance  of  the  sav- 
age, with  its  leaping  and  shouting.  Have  novels 
become  such  a  nuisance  that  their  authors  must  be 
rushed  at  with  the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife  ? 
Possibly  it  may  come  to  this,  if  story-writers  do 
not  heed  the  excellent  counsel  contained  in  this 
essay  !  But,  at  all  events,  it  is  divine  to  forgive, 
and  much  nobler  to  let  mercy  temper  justice. 

Two  very  important  articles  on  this  subject  have 
recently  been  published,  in  consequence  of  whose 


220  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

appearance  the  present  chapter  will  be  much 
shorter  than  otherwise  it  would  have  been.  One 
of  these  is  by  Archdeacon  Farrar  in  the  Forum  ;  * 
the  other  by  Mr.  Howells  in  Harper's  Magazine. ,f 
To  these  might  be  added  a  valuable  paper  by  Mr. 
Fawcett  entitled  "  Should  Critics  be  Gentlemen?":}: 
Mr.  Howells  thinks  that  "  nearly  all  current  criti- 
cism as  practised  among  English  and  Americans  is 
falsely  principled  and  is  conditioned  in  evil.  It 
is  falsely  principled  because  it  is  unprincipled,  or 
without  principles ;  and  it  is  conditioned  in  evil 
because  it  is  almost  wholly  anonymous."  Mr. 
Howells  makes  a  strong  argument  against  anony- 
mous criticism,  and  one  which  seems  to  me  un- 
answerable. He  speaks  in  behalf  of  the  reading 
public,  not  the  author  ;  and  from  this  point  of  view 
the  gain  to  be  derived  from  the  opposite  course 
would  be  very  great,  for  many  reasons  which  he 
gives  and  which  I  will  not  repeat.  Mr.  Howells's 
own  comments  on  books  in  the  Editor's  Study, 
the  literary  notes  of  Mr.  Laurence  Hutton,  and  the 
review  articles  in  the  New  York  Sun  signed  "  M. 
W.  H." — whom  everybody  knows  § — are  certainly 
much  more  valuable  than  the  general  run  of  anony- 
mous criticism.  This  value  does  not  depend  upon 
the  reputation  of  the  writer  so  much  as  it  does  on 
the  fact  that  the  signing  of  a  name  is  a  guaran- 
tee of  all  the  thoroughness  and  honesty  that  self- 

*  May,  1890.  f  August,  1890,  Editor's  Study. 

t  "  Agnosticism  and  Other  Essays."        §  M.  W.  Hasseltine. 


CRITICISM  OF  A    WORK  OF  FICTION.       221 

respect  will  induce  in  a  critic.  We  can  be  some- 
what sure  of  his  fidelity  to  himself,  at  any  rate ; 
and  knowing  him  we  can  understand  his  biases 
and  prejudices  sufficiently  to  correct  in  our  own 
minds  his  erroneous  judgments.  There  are  fre- 
quently published,  of  course,  good  reviews  whose 
authorship  is  not  made  known  ;  but  in  the  best  of 
the  newspapers  following  that  system  there  are  so 
many  notices  so  outrageously  unfair,  so  biassed 
and  jaundiced,  so  destitute  even  of  comprehension 
of  the  work  criticised,  as  to  make  one  lose  all  con- 
fidence in  the  literary  department  itself,  and  to 
quite  justify  anything  that  is  said  in  the  three 
articles  above  mentioned  on  the  iniquity  of  jour- 
nalistic criticism. 

It  seems  a  pity  Mr.  Fawcett's  suggestion  cannot 
be  adopted,  to  the  effect  that  publishers  should 
cease  sending  copies  of  books  for  review  to  news- 
papers generally.  Some  journals  publish  their  list 
of  books  received  with  the  arrogant  heading :  "  We 
consider  mention  of  the  receipt  of  a  book  in  this 
column  a  full  equivalent  therefor ;  as  regards  fur- 
ther notice,  we  shall  be  guided  wholly  by  the 
interests  of  our  readers."  The  publisher  would 
do  well  to  send  such  papers  a  catalogue  only.  It 
is  for  the  interest  of  the  readers  to  know  what 
books  are  coming  out,  and  if  the  editors  do  not 
inform  them  it  will  be  worse  for  the  paper.  But 
the  fact  that  such  announcements  appear  shows 
the  need  of  a  change  in  the  practice,  in  the  interest 


222  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

of  literature.  The  implication  is  that  a  book  is 
prima  facie  trash,  with  a  presumption  against  it  to 
be  overcome  before  it  is  entitled  to  respectful  con- 
sideration. We  cannot  believe  that  literature  has 
reached  this  low  condition,  despite  the  great  mul- 
tiplication of  books.  It  is  quite  true,  though, 
that  a  newspaper  cannot  devote  its  whole  space 
to  book  notices.  Why  not,  then,  eliminate  them 
entirely,  relegating  them  to  journals  specially  de- 
voted to  literary  topics?  The  increase  in  the  num- 
ber of  such  publications  as  "  The  Book-Buyer,"  ' 
"  Book-Chat,"  f  "  Notes  on  Books,"  J  and  "  Liter- 
ary News,"  would  make  such  a  course  far  easier 
than  formerly.  One  gets  much  more  information 
from  these  issues  of  publishing  houses  than  he 
does  from  the  literary  notices  of  most  newspapers. 
If  the  latter  will  not  have  signed  criticisms,  it 
would  be  a  great  gain  if  they  would  only  publish 
condensed  notices,  stating  fairly  what  the  book 
is  without  making  any  attempt  to  characterize. 
Some  few  do  precisely  this,  and  greatly  to  the 
advantage  of  the  reader. 

To  know  what  proper  criticism  is,  one  must 
study  the  works  of  writers  who  are  truly  critics. 
Of  such,  among  those  writing  in  the  English  lan- 
guage and  upon  works  of  fiction,  Mr.  Henry 
James  appears  to  me  to  be  the  greatest  living 

*  Chas.  Scribner's  Sons. 

f  Brentano. 

%  Longmans,  Green  &  Co. 


CRITICISM  OF  A    WORK  OF  FICTION. 


223 


example.  Of  the  French,  I  need  only  mention 
MM.  Taine,  Lemaitre,  Brunetiere,  and  Bourget. 
The  art  of  criticism  requires  fidelity  to  truth  and 
justice,  an  ability  to  weigh  and  compare,  analy- 
tical power,  a  wide  acquaintance  with  literature, 
a  clear  understanding  of  human  nature,  and  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  social  life — the  action  and 
reaction  of  one  mind  upon  another. 

But  while  justice  demands  that  a  novel-writer  be 
understood,  that  the  plan  of  his  work  be  compre- 
hended, and  that  its  execution  be  judged  fairly, 
the  privilege  remains  to  the  reader,  more  unre- 
servedly in  the  case  of  the  novel  than  perhaps  in 
any  other  kind  of  literature,  of  saying,  "  I  do  not 
like  it,"  without  being  obliged  to  justify  the  dis- 
like by  argument.  One  may  choose  his  own 
company,  and,  if  he  does  not  enjoy  one  set,  he  is 
not  obliged  to  say  that  he  does,  or  to  seek  that 
coterie.  One  person  may  prefer  Gaboriau  and 
another  George  Eliot.  From  this,  however,  noth- 
ing could  be  argued  as  to  the  comparative  excel- 
lence of  the  two  authors,  except,  perhaps,  from 
the  characters  of  the  readers.  Yet,  though  our 
preference  be  decided,  we  must  not  apply  it  as 
universal  law.  The  tendency  to  do  so  is  some- 
times very  strong,  and  that  is  always  one  source 
of  difficulty  in  estimating  the  comparative  merits 
of  novels.  But  I  think  we  shall  always  find  that, 
the  wider  the  reach  of  their  influence,  the  greater 
number  of  people  they  appeal  to,  the  more  success 


224  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FICTION. 

must  they  be  deemed  to  have  attained  on  the 
whole.  We  should,  however,  be  careful  to  take 
into  account  not  merely  the  present  interest  in 
them,  but  also  their  ability  to  maintain  a  place 
permanently  in  literature. 

In  closing  this  essay,  I  am  constrained  to  repeat 
the  words  of  Mr.  Besant  in  concluding  his  lecture 
on  the  "  Art  of  Fiction  "  :  "  Wherever  you  find 
good  and  faithful  work,  with  truth,  sympathy,  and 
clearness  of  purpose,  I  pray  you  to  give  the 
author  of  that  work  the  praise  as  to  an  artist — an 
artist  like  the  rest — the  praise  that  you  so  readily 
accord  to  the  earnest  student  of  any  other  art. 
As  for  the  great  masters  of  the  art,  ...  I 
for  one  feel  irritated  when  the  critics  begin  to 
appraise,  compare,  and  to  estimate  them  ;  there  is 
nothing,  I  think,  that  we  can  give  them  but  ad- 
miration that  is  unspeakable  and  gratitude  that  is 
silent.  This  silence  proves  more  eloquently  than 
any  words  how  great,  how  beautiful  an  art  is  that 
of  Fiction." 


THE   END. 


AUTHORS    CITED    OR    QUOTED,   WITH 
REFERENCES   TO    PAGES. 


Abbott,  17. 
Akenside,  158. 
Alden,  W.  L.,  66,  189. 
Andersen,  133. 
Arreat,  30,  154,  203. 
Austen,  Jane,  125. 

Bain,  A.,  140. 

Balzac,  g,  36,  57,  64,  68,  71,  95, 

III,   I2O,  169,   197,  212. 
Bayne,  P.,  116,  121. 
Beckford,  98. 
Belot,  14. 
Bernard,  56. 

Besant,  W.,  89,  216,  224. 
Black,  19,  87. 
Boileau,  216. 

Bourget,  66,  194,  196,  223. 
Boyesen,  178,  199. 
Bronte,  Charlotte,  121,  191. 
Brownell,  W.  C.,  124. 
Browning,  Mrs.,  191. 
Brunetiere,   223. 
Bryant,  5. 
Buchanan,  192. 
Bulwer,  E.,   36,  79,  85,  98,  211, 

214. 

Cape  Cod  Folks,  21. 

Casanova,  40. 

Chaucer,  5. 

Cobbe,  Frances  P.,  82. 

Coombs,  Mrs.  Chas.  A.,  170. 


Cooper,  19. 
Crawford,  Marion,  166. 

Dale,  Alan,  14. 
Dante,  5. 
Darwin,  123. 
Daudet,  A.,  176,  189. 
David-Sauvageot,     74,    80,    81, 

204. 

De  Mille,  20. 
De  Quincey,  137. 
De  Sade.  172. 
De  Vogue,   no,  133. 
Dickens,  36,  94,  102,  no,  125. 
Disraeli,  71,  214. 
Dostoyevsky,  no,  169. 

Ebers,  19. 

Edgeworth,  Mrs.,  128. 
Eggleston,     Edward,    36,     191, 

214. 

Eggleston,  George  Gary,  180. 
Eliot,  George,  I,  36,  37,  46,  53, 

71,   107,   120,   125,    134,  191, 

223. 

Farrar,  220. 

Fawcett,  122,  211,  220. 

Flaubert,  66,  183,  216. 

Foggazaro,  I2O. 

Fouque,  133. 

Frederick  III.,  Diary,  21. 

Gaboriau,  112,  223. 


226 


INDEX. 


Gautier,  171,  184. 
Gogol,  55. 
Goldsmith,  5. 

Haggard,  8,  13,  37,  92,  94. 

Hammond,  99. 

Hawthorne,  N.,  107,  125. 

Herndon,  21. 

Heyse,  186. 

Higginson,  134. 

Hobbes,  140. 

Holmes,  183. 

Homer,  5,  89. 

Horace,  93. 

Ho  wells,  36,  134,  136,  220. 

Hugo,  96,  no,  in. 

James,  Henry,  64,  68,  125,  182, 

190,   192,  210,  215,  2l6,  222. 

Kipling,  210. 
Knox,  1 8. 

Lanza,  99,  191,  215. 
Lathrop,  G.  P.,  134. 
Lemaitre,  50,  63,  223. 
Lichtenberg,  219. 
Lindau,  177. 

Masson,  137. 

Matthews,  Brander,  115,  208. 

Maupassant,  46,  59,  60,  66,  167, 

188,  197,  209,  210,  216. 
Meredith,  Owen  (Earl  Lytton), 

123. 

Milton,  5,  122. 
Moliere,  9,  8l. 
Montaigne,  93. 
Mtthlbach,  19,  37. 
Munchausen,  7. 

Ouida,  19,  81,  88,  190,  211,  214. 
Plato,  5. 

Radcliffe,  Anne,  98. 
Reade,  2JI. 


Reid,  17. 
Renan,  215. 
Richardson,  I. 
Roe,  128,  178,  199. 
Ruskin,  47,  77,  88,  215. 

Saltus,  E.,  166,  194. 

Sand,  George,  120,  126,  2IO. 

Scott,    Walter,    8,    19,   46,    92, 

106,  125. 

Seelye,  J.  H.,  54. 
Shakespeare,  9,  64. 
Smollett,  94,  112. 
Sophocles,  203. 
Sparks,  21. 
Spencer,  H.,  70,  140. 
Star,  New  York,   article,  194. 
Stendhal,  63,  64. 
Stevenson,  79,  94,  116,  211,  213, 

216. 

Stockton,  7. 
Stowe,  Mrs.,  28. 
Sue,  96,  in. 
Sully,  114,  200,  203. 
Swedenborg,  184. 
Swift,  7. 

Taine,  64,  102,  126. 
Thackeray,  36,  46,  95,  125. 
Tolstoi',  94,   105,  107,  112,  169, 

177,  209,  210,  212. 
Tribune,  New  York,  article,  194. 
Trollope,  46. 
Tuckerman,  46,  134. 
Turgenieff,  133,  196,   209,  214, 

215- 

Valdez,  216. 
Vale'ra,  212,  216. 
Veron,  33,  75. 

Walpole,  98. 
Ward,  Mrs.  H.,  9. 
Wordsworth,  5. 

Zola,    I,   22,  46,   55-63,  66-71, 
74,  ill,  136,  200. 


CRITICAL  NOTICES. 


A  SYSTEM  OF  PSYCHOLOGY. 

BY  DANIEL  GREENLEAF  THOMPSON. 
2  vols.,  8vo,  1226  pages. 


The  Leeds  (England)  Mercury. 
This  is  a  very  comprehensive  and  important  work. 

The  Journal  of  Mental  Science  (England). 

Mr.  Thompson's  work  accomplishes  its  aim  in  a  very  successful  manner. 
The  book  may  without  hesitation  be  pronounced  a  good  one. 

The  Edinburgh  Scotsman. 

In  the  seventy-five  chapters  of  these  bulky  volumes  a  more  detailed  and 
systematic  account  is  given  of  the  genesis  and  development  of  states  of 
consciousness  than  can  be  found  in  any  other  single  work  in  the  language. 

Mr.  Thompson  is  an  accomplished  and  earnest  searcher  after  truth. 

The  N.  Y.  Popular  Science  Monthly. 

It  is  undoubtedly  the  most  important  contribution  to  psychological  science 
that  any  American  has  yet  produced  ;  nor  is  there  any  foreign  work  with 
which  we  are  acquainted  that  contains  so  exhaustive,  so  instructive,  and 
well  presented  a  digest  of  the  subject  as  this. 

The  Academy  (England). 

Mr.  Thompson's  treatise,  though  named  A  System  of  Psychology \  Is  in 
reality,  in  outline  at  least,  a  system  of  philosophy. 

While  following  the  most  plainly  marked  track  in  the  fields  of  English 
thought,  Mr.  Thompson  is  independent,  and  now  and  again  impressively 
original. 

The  Contemporary  Review  (England). 

Mr.  Thompson  is  an  acute  and  careful  observer  himself,  and  a  systematic 
student  of  the  results  put  forward  by  other  workers. 

The  author  has  amply  made  good  the  modest  claim  he  puts  forward  for 
himself  as  an  independent  student.— A.  SETH. 

I 


Mind  (England). 

The  passages  that  have  been  referred  to  must,  of  course,  be  taken  merely 
as  specimens  of  Mr.  Thompson's  contributions  to  psychology,  not  as  a 
complete  account  of  all  that  he  has  done ;  but  they  are  sufficient  to  show 
that  if  he  has  not  systematized  the  science  from  any  new  point  of  view,  he 
has  at  least  carried  the  analytical  methods  of  the  older  psychology  further 
in  various  directions. 

Nature  (England). 

In  criticising  any  new  book,  we  ought  to  ask  whether  the  author  has 
made  any  advance  on  his  immediate  predecessors.  We  ought,  in  fact,  to 
apply  to  the  particular  author  we  are  criticising  the  test  of  progress  to 
which  psychology  as  a  whole  may  be  submitted.  Mr.  Thompson's  book 
will  emerge  successfully  from  an  examination  such  as  that  which  is  here 
suggested.  In  dealing  with  many  special  questions  he  goes  beyond  the 
later  English  psychologists,  just  as  they  themselves  have  gone  beyond 
Locke. 

We  may  conclude  by  saying  that,  although  in  some  respects  an  unequal 
book,  it  is  decidedly  an  important  contribution  of  America  to  the  treatment 
of  psychology  on  the  lines  with  which  English  readers  are  most  familiar. 


The  Index  (Boston,  Matt.). 

It  is  recognized  as  a  standard  work  at  once.    (First  notice.} 

This  work  proves  the  author  to  be  a  man  of  large  intellectual  grasp,  of 
keen  critical  and  analytical  ability,  and  at  the  same  time  of  large  construct- 
ive power  and  capacity  for  generalization,  of  ample  acquaintance  with 
philosophy  and  literature. 

One  need  not  assent  to  all  that  Mr.  Thompson  advances  in  order  to 
appreciate  his  robust  thought,  his  masterly  reasoning,  his  clear,  strong 
style  and  truly  philosophic  spirit.  (Second  notice.) 

It  is  without  doubt  the  most  profound,  extensive,  and  original  work  on 
psychology  that  this  country  has  produced.  ( Third  notice.) 


Revue  Philosophique  (Paris). 

We  consider  that  Mr.  Thompson  has  rendered  a  great  service  to  psychol- 
ogists in  undertaking  to  systematize  results  actually  attained  ;  he  has  suc- 
ceeded in  presenting  them  in  clear  and  precise  form  ;  he  has  in  many  places 
added  useful  information,  and  the  reading  of  his  work  is  eminently  sug- 
gestive. It  seems  to  us,  above  all,  that  he  has  the  great  merit  of  producing 
a  work  almost  entirely  psychological. — F.  PICAVKT. 


3 
THE   PROBLEM  OF  EVIL. 

BY  DANIEL  GREENLEAF  THOMPSON. 
8vo.,  281  pages. 


The  Journal  of  Education  (England). 

Mr.  Thompson  has  already  made  a  name  for  himself  as  a  psychologist,  and 
he  handles  the  questions  of  moral  science  with  an  acuteness  which  will  sus- 
tain his  reputation. 

The  N.  Y.  Popular  Science  Monthly. 

A  multitude  of  the  pressing  problems  of  our  social  life  are  suggested  and 
discussed  in  this  compact  volume  with  such  frankness,  sincerity,  ability,  and 
good  feeling  that  we  can  heartily  commend  it  not  only  to  the  professional 
scholar,  but  to  all  thoughtful  men  and  women. 

The  Open  Court  (Chicago,  III.). 

The  style  of  our  author  is  admirably  clear,  and  the  general  tone  of  the 
discussion,  covering,  as  it  does,  a  wide  range  of  practical  questions  which 
are  uppermost  in  the  thought  of  millions  at  the  present  day,  will  doubtless 
secure  for  Mr.  Thompson's  book  a  wide  circle  of  intelligent  readers. 

The  Guardian  (England). 

We  admire  his  [the  author's]  originality  and  analytical  power,  his  obvious 
desire  to  be  true  to  facts,  his  almost  omnivorous  tastes  in  literature,  and, 
above  all,  his  extreme  modesty  and  self-effacement.  Even  when  we  come 
to  the  end  and  remember  that  we  disagree  with  his  first  principles,  there 
remains  with  us  a  consciousness  of  much  that  is  true  and  some  things  which 
are  new,  while  in  lucidity  of  exposition  and  fearlessness  of  statement  Mr. 
Thompson  reminds  us]  more  of  John  Stuart  Mill  than  of  any  other  of  his 
chosen  leaders. 

Knowledge  (England). 

Mr.  Thompson,  in  the  very  able  and  important  work  before  us,  investi- 
gates the  nature  and  origin  of  evil,  and  essays  to  point  out  the  most  hopeful 
means  for  its  elimination.  .  .  .  He  discusses  at  length  the  suggested 
methods  (social,  political,  and  ecclesiastical)  for  reducing  evil  to  a  mini- 
mum, which  have  been  and  are  still  advanced,  and  shows  trenchantly  the 
fallacies  which  underlie  them  all.  .  .  .  We  will  not  diminish  the  pleas- 
ure with  which  the  reader  will  peruse  this  volume,  by  any  more  detailed 
analysis  of  its  contents  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  Mr.  Thompson  has  made  a 
real  and  enduring  contribution  to  ethical  philosophy. 


THE  RELIGIOUS  SENTIMENTS  OF  THE  HUMAN 
MIND. 

BY  DANIEL  GREENLEAF  THOMPSON. 
8vo,    184  pages. 


The  Popular  Science  Monthly  (New  York). 

In  the  volume  before  us  Mr.  Thompson  has  entered  upon  a  fruitful  field 
of  thought  and  discussion ;  one,  moreover,  which  requires  great  tact  and 
delicacy  in  its  cultivation,  if  the  author  would  secure  the  sympathetic  and 
respectful  attention  of  his  readers.  In  this  respect,  Mr.  Thompson  has 
been  notably  successful.  His  treatment  of  his  topic  is  calm,  temperate, 
philosophical,  free  from  bias,  appealing  to  reason  rather  than  to  theological 
or  anti-theological  prejudices.  While  his  discussion  of  the  religious  prob- 
lem is  entirely  frank,  manly,  and  unconventional,  it  is  also  duly  considerate 
of  those  conceptions  which  he  is  compelled  to  discredit  and  oppose.  .  .  . 
The  book,  as  a  whole,  stimulates  thought  and  holds  the  attention  of  the 
reader.  In  connection  with  "  A  System  of  Psychology"  and  "The  Problem 
of  Evil,"  it  justifies  us  in  ranking  its  author  among  our  ablest  philosophical 
thinkers. 

The  Manchester  (England)  Examiner. 

Readers  of  the  more  thoughtful  type  who  are  acquainted  with  Mr.  Daniel 
Greenleaf  Thompson's  "  System  of  Psychology,"  and  his  very  suggestive 
treatment  of  "  The  Problem  of  Evil,"  will  extend  a  hearty  welcome  to  his 
new  work.  .  .  .  Though  his  work  cannot  be  compared  with  the  recent 
magnificent  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  same  great  theme  by  Dr. 
James  Martineau,  it  is  full  of  acute,  sound,  and  penetrating  thought.  Of 
the  four  sections  into  which  the  book  is  divided,  perhaps  the  second  .  .  . 
is  the  richest  in  interest ;  but  the  work,  from  first  to  last,  is  well  worthy  of 
careful  study. 

Mind. 

Mr.  Thompson's  present  work  is  a  study  of  the  science,  not  of  religions 
as  they  exist  or  have  existed,  but  of  religion  as  a  general  fact  of  conscious 
experience.  His  aim  is  rather  to  determine  what  beliefs  can  rationally  be 
held  about  the  supernatural  than  to  describe  the  process  by  which  the  super- 
natural comes  to  be  believed  in ;  though,  in  accordance  with  his  tradi- 
tional view  of  philosophic  method,  he  makes  an  investigation  of  this  prelim- 
inary to  his  determination  of  the  limits  of  rational  belief,  and  more  generally 
bases  his  religious  philosophy  on  his  previous  work  in  psychology  and 
ethics. 


SOCIAL  PROGRESS. 

BY   DANIEL  GREENLEAF  THOMPSON. 
8vo,   182  pages. 


New  York  Times. 

There  is  a  matter  of  exceeding  interest  to  be  found  in  this  volume,  which 
is  a  cool  and  dispassionate  analysis  of  human  actions. 

Boston  Transcript. 

The  book  is  full  of  meat  for  thoughtful  readers.  .  .  .  We  commend  it  to 
the  reading  of  every  man  who  wishes  to  see  the  way  clearer  to  political  and 
social  reform  in  our  own  country. 

Edinburgh  Scotsman. 

An  admirable,  clear,  and  logical  exposition  of  those  principles  which 
are  now  generally  recognized  as  the  essential  conditions  of  national  and 
individual  well  being. 

Science, 

The  author's  style  is  clear  and  flowing,  so  that  the  book  is  easy  and 
agreeable  to  read  ;  and  there  is  much  in  it  that  thinkers  of  all  schools  will 
agree  with. 

The  Epoch. 

Mr.  Thompson  shows  great  analytical  power,  clearness  of  statement, 
moderateness  of  view,  and  frequently  originality.  This  book  might  well 
be  read  by  every  American  citizen,  for  even  old  thoughts  are  put  in  a  for- 
cible, and  often  original,  way. 

The  Christian  Union. 

The  best  part  of  Mr.  Thompson's  book  is  that  in  which  he  discusses 
ioral  and  religious  ideas.  He  urges  the  duty  of  intellectual  hospitality, 
id  himself  recognizes  it  in  his  treatment  of  Christian  ideas  which  he  does 
it  accept.  He  urges  upon  Christian  people  a  willingness  to  let  those  who 
ler  with  them  in  faith  unite  with  them  in  good  works,  reminding  them 
the  Scripture  teaching  that  those  who  "  do  the  will  "  shall  "  know  the 

:trine. 

A  merican  Hebrew. 

n  important  and  valuable  contribution  to  political  science.    He  evinces 

asterly  logical  equipment.      His  eduction  of  the  principles  of  liberty 

equality  is  certainly  to  be  classed  with  the  very  best  specimens  of  close 

uiing  upon  abstract  subjects.    Mr.  Thompson  has  contributed  a  worthy 

ion  to  the  literature  of  philosophical  thought ;  his  speculative  genius 

'found  and  broad  enough  to  give  him  high  rank  not  only  among  the 

tect  thinkers  in  America,  but  among  the  acutest  metaphysicians  of 

ic. 


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